


How The Light Gets In

by dryersheetz



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Actor Derek Hale, Alternate Universe - Bookstore, Alternate Universe - No Werewolves, Alternate Universe - Notting Hill Fusion, Angst with a Happy Ending, Beacon Hills, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Kiss, First Time, Homophobia, Infidelity, Invasion of Privacy, Multi, POV Stiles (First Person), Past Abuse, References to Epilepsy, Romantic Comedy, Secret Relationship, Slow Burn, Smut, Store Owner: Stiles, chaptered fic, comic books, mentions of werewolves, past drug abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-30
Updated: 2016-12-24
Packaged: 2018-03-04 07:29:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 40,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2989373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dryersheetz/pseuds/dryersheetz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Teen Wolf / Notting Hills AU</p><p>Stiles Stilinski's life as a comic book store owner in Beacon Hills, California had been satisfying enough, but he's been inevitably becoming increasingly bored and antsy with the cyclical nature of his life in a smaller town.</p><p>Enter Frame: The famous Hollywood bad boy and contender for Sexiest Man Alive, Derek Hale, who proceeds to turn his world upside down, but somehow brings him closer to the things he knew were most important he had lost sight of along the way.</p><p>(Title from the Leonard Cohen Poem)</p><p>**12/24/2016: Edited for some grammatical and spelling errors. Happy Holidays!**</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Introduction

Of course, I've seen some of his films and parts of the T.V. series; I always thought he was, well, gorgeous, sex-on-legs, -- but, you know, a million miles from the world I live in.  Which is here -- Beacon Hills, CA -- not a bad place to be…

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 

“ _Seven A.M. the usual morning line up…_ ”  
 

I groan and roll, pawing at the rickety table, searching for the source of all of my problems.  “Scott! I’m gonna kill...yo…”, fading back to incoherency.  
 

I’m so unmotivated to wake-up and bring myself back to the perpetual cyclonic boringness which is my life these days, I can’t even curse my stupid roommate (but really he’s my chosen forever-brother, you know?) properly.  I must be losing my touch.  
  


“ _Just wonder when will my life begin…_ ”  
 

I finally gather the strength to silence that devil, she-witch, Mandy-Moore-not-Kristen-Bell hooker.  I am seriously going to kill him for changing my alarm yet again to the sounds of Tangled.  That blonde dumbass had a solitary tower oasis all to herself and chose to voluntarily wake-up every morning at 7am.  Idiot.  
  


Sitting up slowly and rubbing my eyes, I remember why Scott had the opportunity to ruin my morning with his covert and less than brilliant pranks; I need to stop drinking whiskey on work-nights and waking up on the couch.  This is probably why I have a playing card stuck to my face.  I peel off the card and look at the black print assembling itself into words on its white background as my morning vision clears: “ _Whining like a little bitch_ ”.  Oh Cards Against Humanity, you really are the cruelest of all the games.  
 

I fist through my hair a couple of times to orient myself and palm down the achingly familiar morning wood.  Just another Wednesday; time to get up and go to work with the knowledge that today, tomorrow, and next week will all be the same mundane pattern: lather…rinse...repeat.  With that thrilling reminder, I decide it’s probably time to zombie walk myself over to the shower, and assemble the pieces back together to produce something that resembles a normalish-looking human being.  
 

When I hit the bathroom, I turn around and survey the scene of the small living room: black and white cards litter the beige carpet like confetti with a couple of beer bottles strewn throughout to give the floor some color.  Allison’s coat is still slung over one of the kitchen stools which means at least someone in here’s getting lucky.  The pizza pan with two uneaten pieces (Breakfast - score!) sits on the counter, next to sad, empty boxes of now-eaten mozzarella sticks.  The dull light coming in through the window illuminates a bunch of discarded dishes in the sink annoyingly aching for some attention.  It’s like a new-age Norman Rockwell: _The Unmotivated American Boy’s Life at 23_.

The shower takes a bit longer than expected, probably because I’m so touch-starved I take the five extra minutes to jack it while resting my head on the cool, green tile.  After my last relationship ended two weeks before graduation with a “I think our lives are just going in different directions” bullshit commencement speech specially written for yours truly, I haven’t gotten any action which accounts for most of my life’s current state of perpetual suckage.  I watch my release wash down the drain, poignantly representing the best part of my day that has now passed.  Dutifully, I wash my hair and body and reluctantly turn off the stream of hot water.    
  


I brush my teeth and grab my super awesome Captain America towel from behind the door (it’s okay to be jealous, I know) wrapping it around my waist.  I assess myself in the mirror, gazing at the lanky boy looking disapprovingly back at me.  Everyone’s a critic today.  I make my way back to my room tripping a heeled shoe along the route to finish the morning routine.  
 

Back in my small room, I pick through the clean laundry I haven’t yet found the motivation to fold and put away in my dresser and closet.  I select the boxers, jeans, X-Men shirt, and overlapping signature plaid button-down which make up the usual costume for the day.  My red hoodie is draped across the back of my computer chair which I grab to complete my signature look and then find my socks and high-topped converse by the door.  I shuffle the piles on my desk around and finally locate my wallet and keys; just have to recollect the phone from the living room and I’ll be on my way with said hoodie under my arm.  
 

I exit my room to find a lazily disheveled, shaggy haired roommate at the kitchen counter licking his fingers while swallowing the last bite of the last piece of pizza and giving me the smallest bro-nod.  I look at him and shake my head: “You get laid and get my breakfast.  You’re lucky I love you, asshole.”  I swipe my phone from the coffee table and make my way for the door, hearing Scott grunt something after me.  
  


Just another day in good old Beacon Hills.  I don’t expect today to be any different than yesterday and I’ll get to wake up and do it all again tomorrow.  That stupid refrain is going to be in my head all day.    
  


“ _Stuck in the same place I’ve always been...And I'll keep wonderin' and wonderin', and wonderin', and wonderin' When will my life begin?_ ”  Perfect.  Just perfect.

 

 


	2. The Shop

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Of all the comic book shops in all the world...

Well, now that I’ve rambled on about my alarmingly repetitive life for the last few minutes, I think it’s only fair that I introduce myself, and also provide a warning that there will be much rambling.  I don’t really know how to communicate without a good ramble, but I promise witty quips along the way as well.

Stiles Stilinski’s the name.  No, Stiles isn’t my real name - it’s a nickname.  No, I’m not going to divulge my real name; I’ve shared pretty much all the embarrassment a guy can live with already this early in the morning.  Don’t ask Scott either; he’s sworn to secrecy under a blood oath and we take that shit seriously.

I pop my earbuds in as I head down the stairs from my apartment, making the 200 yard dash down the street to work accompanied by Fitz and the Tantrums.  I’m an entrepreneur; you know, a job creator.  I have one employee and own the comic book store here on Grand.  I don’t get a lot of people in the shop.  Most of what I sell, which is not a ton, is online.  The space is pretty small and packed.  I get a fair amount of pre-teen boys in the shop and have the joy of seeing myself reflected in their hopeful faces.  It’s a lot for them to aspire to: I get to do the thing I love all day and have my right hand for company at night.  Really, I don’t have a lot to complain about other than it’s been a while and a dude has needs, okay?

Arriving at the door, I take a second to appreciate the mid-August, bright morning.  I pull out the key and get this party started for the day.  I’m welcomed by the cool air-conditioning while the lights flicker on.  I circle around the counter to the register, unlocking the cabinet with the cash drawer and unsheath my iPad which I use for the infrequent credit card purchases, tracking online bids, and most of the browsing and reading I do throughout the day.  As an added bonus, I find a granola bar from a couple of days ago in the cabinet.  Breakfast will be happening after all.

Now you’re probably wondering how I managed to become a store-owner at the age of 23.  My dad’s the Sheriff in town and got a lead on a foreclosed property at auction he helped me purchase as a graduation present.  My dad’s the best.  You’ll probably meet him at some point during the day if it all goes according to the regular plan, which it inevitably does.

The bell of the door sounds and I see my trusty employee, Isaac, make his way through with a couple of cups of coffee in his hands.   That’s the deal: he brings me coffee every morning from my favorite shop which is right by his apartment, and I don’t ever fire him.  It’s a sweet arrangement for him, in my opinion.  He mumbles a hello to me and sets the coffee on the counter before making his way to the back.

I take a sip of the caffeinated goodness and moan: “Ughh I love you more and more each morning.  I bow to you on your throne made of awesome.”

“I’m flattered, Stiles”.  I’ll give it to him: he really has a way of making his disingenuous tone still appealing.

“I’m talking to the coffee, moron.  I love this coffee more than anything else in my whole life right now.”  Isaac snorts while I continue to enjoy the elixir’s deliciousness.  Loudly.

“Did we get the shipment of the new _Arrow_ release in this morning?”  Isaac’s grabbed a broom and sets about preparing the place for the throngs of customers we are sure to see.

“Not yet.  Tony must be running late this morning.  Probably got held up by Mrs. Collins asking him to move her display mannequins again,” I rattle off while checking our eBay account.  

Isaac shuffles up to the window, pointing the broom head across the street where the little old lady is directing our delivery man to shift the creepy, ugly 80’s prom dress mannequin “a little more to the left”.

“Right again, Stiles.  What is that, the third morning in a row?”  He scoffs and finishes the tidying work of the morning.

He’s a good looking kid, I’ll give him that.  Strong face with sharp cheekbones, a mop of blonde curls, and blue eyes.  He’s pretty much an Aryan dream.

Isaac doesn’t talk much; he used to work for his father, that abusive dick, digging graves in the local cemetery, so I would say that this job is quite the step up for him.  He came out of his shell a bit after his father got carted away to the lock-up (my dad busted him which was a great day in all of our lives).  He used to beat Isaac, throw plates at him, and lock him in an unplugged freezer in the basement.  There’s a special place in hell - I swear.  Scotty adopted him halfway through high school and got him on the lacrosse team.  He’s been a permanent fixture ever since.  

He twists one of his loose, blonde curls thoughtfully, and returns the broom to the supply closet.  “I’d give it about five more minutes before he makes his escape”.

This is what our morning has become: waiting on Tony and bantering about the usual town business.

After the practically overwhelming delivery excitement, the clock slowly makes its way around the face with no visitors, until a new kid comes breezing in the shop around 11am.  I haven’t seen him before and let him browse around while keeping my eye on him.  The new kids sometimes like to steal and I’m in no mood for an impromptu morning jog.

He goes to the back display shelves with the new Marvel releases and begins to turn the shelves at a high-paced speed.  Even though they’re some of my best customers, I’m going to be kind of glad when summer vacation is over.

I shake my head while my eye catches someone approaching the shop slowly through the window.  My attention is brought back to the boy when some of the comics tumble onto the ground while the bell dings.  This has to be the most action-packed morning we’ve had in a while.

While Isaac sighs and starts to pick up the fallen comics from the display, I take a minute to assess our new visitor.  

I could swear that sexy background music starts to slowly fade in while my POV camera view pans up.  From the painted on dark jeans, which hug those hips and ass (that ass!) in a tribute to god’s plan for perfection in the natural world, which then transition to a thin, white V-Neck t-shirt, finally up a tuft of hair peeking out on the strong, built chest.  My eyes keep tracing up broad shoulders to a face which is easily magazine ready.  The dark stranger is wearing aviators which sit below furled, thick eyebrows in the middle of a perfect face.  I can’t even see the whole face, but I know it’s perfect.  The strong jawline is clenched while he takes in the shop.  At this point, I’m not ashamed to admit it, I gulp loudly and try to remember what words are.  This is clearly a first for me.

My feet start moving on their own accord, rounding me from behind the counter up into his orbit and that’s when the stream of consciousness decides kicks in.  And just about kicks him in the face.

“Welcome to my shop - Feel free to browse around and let me know if you need help with anything - I can tell you about anything that you might be interested in here - we’ve got all the regular commercial types in-store with a couple of special extras - or I could order you something off our online marketplace if you’re looking for something rarer and more specific - anything I can do?” I take a deep breath after realizing I gave him the whole introduction without one.  I lower my hands slowly as I’ve been practically flapping at him during this presentation.  The shop is completely quiet, and he just glares at me from behind the aviators.

I should have known and start to shrink: this is a guy who wants to be left alone.  I nervously scratch my nose and back away slowly trying to gather my bearings.  As I mentally berate myself while crossing behind the counter, my mind starts to fit puzzle pieces together in a most disturbing manner.  I recognize this stranger.  This stranger who is just standing in my shop with the signature scowl on his face.  He’s standing in my shop, looking through the new _Sandman Overture_ , which is not where I would have expected his attention to go.

Isaac has finished fussing with the display and huffs into the back room of the shop, clearly done with the pubescent annoyance and paying no attention to our new guest.  From the corner of my eye, I see the boy shuffle his pants weirdly which make a papery rustling sound.

As hesitant as I am to leave my counter refuge, I try to quietly make my way over to the boy and clear my throat behind him.  He rotates slowly and looks up at me with a way-too-innocent expression on his face.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

He looks up at me with a flash of panic in his eyes and tries to regain his composure.  “Would...wouldn’t do what?”  He tries to make himself bigger, as if this is going to intimidate me.  I’m going to be really mad if I’ve got a runner.  
 

“I know you’ve got a comic in your pants, like that’s an original scheme, and I would suggest taking it out and putting it back before I call the cops and ruin the rest of your summer vacation.”  I can feel eyes watching the situation unfold, the shaded eyes behind me burning a hole in my hoodie armor.  This is exactly how I want this to go, in front of _him_.  
 

“I don’t have a comic in my pants Seriously!”  First step’s always denial.

“I know you do.  What do you think this is my first time at the rodeo, Ace?”

“Why do you think I would want to steal one of these stupid comics?”  There’s the anger.  We’re definitely on track.

“I’ve got the Sheriff on speed-dial.  He has a special place in his heart for shoplifters.  And by heart, I mean a special holding pen down at the station where your parents can pick you up after spending the night with friendly strangers whose tattoos mark each of their victims on their humongous arms.  They’d be really happy to get to know you.”

This gets his attention.  I can see the wheels turning behind his eyes.  I was laying it on a little thick, I know, but I’m in no mood to go through bargaining or depression at this point.  “Put it back and leave.”  With that, I turn and make my way back to the counter, hearing the tell-tale signs of a comic being placed back on the display.  
 

The kid makes his way to leave the shop, getting a good look at our other friend present.  He takes a few more steps past, grabbing his phone out of his pocket, and starts to turn around.  Tall, Hot, and Intimidating honest-to-god growls at the kid who then hightails it out on turbo speed.  I can’t help chuckling behind him.

The shaded face snaps to me and I realize that he’s coming up to the counter.  He lays a couple of comics on the glass for me to ring up.  I assess his choices: the new _Justice League_ , one of the _Arrow_ comics that came in this morning with Tony’s delivery, and an older copy of _The Astounding Wolf-Man_.  I start to ring him up when he speaks an aside to me unprompted: “I was thinking about stealing one but now I’ve changed my mind.”  

I freeze and slowly meet his eyes, still mysteriously cloaked behind the aviators.  I clear my throat and start to ramble.  “Well, you know, it comes with the territory when your main audience is early teenage delinquents.  Not that other people can’t enjoy comics.  I meet pretty cool people at the conventions.  I met Robert Kirkman about two years back.  I think I have a signed copy of _Wolf-Man_ here somewhere, if you want to take a look at it.  He’s the creator, which is sweet - I got to ask him like a billion questions about _The Walking Dead_.  He had some problems with the book-to-screen direction of the first season, but we both agreed that Daryl is totally badass.”

He raises an eyebrow at me, almost amused, maybe? He shakes his head incrementally and lays a black credit card on the counter.  
 

I take the credit card, trying to inconspicuously confirm the name raised into the plastic while swiping it through on the iPad. Son of a bitch; I was right.

Without saying anything else, I pack the comics into a bag and hand them over.  He goes to grab them and I just can’t let go for a second.  My voice, albeit smaller than normal. finds its way back to the surface: “Thanks for stopping in.  Come back any time.”

Transaction completed, he gives me a quick once over and turns to exit, swiftly leaving the shop behind, only leaving a dinging bell in his wake and a lowly shopkeep with his jaw on the floor.

 

 


	3. Collision Course

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes fate just smacks you in the face...with milkshakes.

I stand with my mouth open in shock for the next few minutes (yes, I’ll admit I was shell-shocked for a lengthy period), willing my way back down to earth when I hear Isaac reappearing from the back room.  “Everyone cleared out?”

“I don’t think you’ll believe who was just in here,” I finally manage, but bring my hand over my mouth.

“What, the shoplifting kid?  Like that’s new?”  He comes over and leans on the counter.

I shake my head at him, still overcoming my paralysis.

“Who was it?  Was it a famous person? Seriously?”  He runs to the window, but our guest is far gone at this point.  “Who was it?”

Completely against every loud, frantic part of my nature, I can’t bring myself to open my mouth.  I shake my head again.  My brain is still buffering.  I don’t want to say it and give him the chance to tell me it wasn’t real.

“Oh well.  It would be pretty baller if someone famous did come in.  I have no idea why anyone famous would want to spend any time in Beacon Hills.  The closest thing we have to a celebrity around here is that kid who was in that viral video with his dog who sings along to Metallica.  That’s a cool dog.”  He shrugs and turns back to me.  “Want something for lunch? I can head out to the diner and grab food."

I need to get out of the shop and clear my head.  “It’s okay - I’ll run out.  Cheeseburgers, curly fries, and shakes.  The Wednesday usual.”

I head south on Grand to the diner three doors down and right around the corner. I’m greeted by a big smile from Patti as she waves me in the shop.  I bound up to the counter and slap down the bills from my wallet.  “I was wondering when I’d see one of you boys today.  Eddie - the usual for the comic book boys!” she shouts to the back.

“Hey Patti.  How’s the day been going?”

She stands proudly behind the counter, glad to have some company. It’s still pretty early for the lunch rush, and we’re totally bros.  She’s a 60 year old, round lady, with long silverish hair who’s married to Eddie the cook.  I think they used to be in some sort of hippie commune in their earlier days.  Eddie got really good at cooking for large amounts of people and makes the best curly fries in town.  I consider myself to be a connoisseur of curly fries.  His are genius, hands down.

She chatters on about some of the latest gossip, talking about how her neighbor’s cats won’t stop yowling throughout the night, and that the DeWalts are fighting again.  She thinks they’re almost certainly going to divorce this time.  She turns the conversation back on me: “Anyone new in your life, Stiles?”

She takes my huff as a negative as Eddie rings the bell.  She hands me the bag full of my midday salvation while making a snide comment about young boys’ metabolisms, along with a drink carton with the milk shakes, vanilla for me, strawberry for Isaac.  With that, I’m on my way out the door.

I fly out of the shop at top speed, eager to get back and plow into the greasy goodness the bag has to offer.  I come barrelling around the corner right into the human equivalent of a brick wall.

Isaac’s strawberry milkshake flies all over the brick-wall-man while a creatively assembled array of obscenities bursts out of my mouth.  The other man freezes, appropriate for the cold, abstract pink Pollack now painted all over his expensive clothes.

“Oh my god.  Oh my GOD - I am so sorry!  I didn’t see you coming around the corner!”  I frantically start grabbing napkins out of the torn lunch bag I had been carrying and proceed to try and clean him up.

He starts backward when my napkined hand connects with his abdomen and barks “Get Your Hands Off Me!”

“I’m so sorry.  I am really, really sorry!”  This can’t be happening.  Of course I did this.  The rambling starts: “Oh my god.  I can’t believe…I just... Let me make it up to you.  Please - my apartment’s just down the street.  I have a shower there, a washer and dryer to get it out of your clothes.  Please, let me help you. I’m so sorry.  Don’t kill me!"

My plea seems to soften his eyes which turn understandably preoccupied.  He lets out a short breath:  “I just need to get my car back.  It’s been towed.  How the fuck do you get towed in Small Town USA?”

“Beacon Hills doesn’t have much in the way of real crime, so they’re pretty serious about parking enforcement.”  Finally, something I can help with.  “Listen, I’ve got connections with the police department.  I can figure out where your car is while you get cleaned up.  My roommate has some clothes you can borrow in the meantime at our apartment. I’ll just make a quick call and we’ll get everything sorted out.”

He raises his eyebrows - those eyebrows - at me and assesses.  “Your apartment’s close to here?  Where?  Give it to me in yards.”  

I abide the command and point down the street to the three story red brick building: “Just there - like 200 yards.  We can have this all fixed in no time.  Whatever I can do to make it up to you, dude.”

He continues to glare at me in what will be known forever more as The Longest Moment Of My Life.  Finally, he heaves a sigh, grunting out an affirmative.  “Don’t call me dude.”

I finally feel like I can breathe again and crack a mini-smile.  I start to lead the way.  “My roommate is working, so he won’t bother you.  You can use our shower if you need to - I have an extra towel.  I’ll call my dad as soon as we get in.”

“Your dad?”

“My dad’s the Sheriff of Beacon County.”  My chest puffs up.  My dad’s the man.  “He’ll be able to help out with anything you need and track down the car.”

“The Sheriff on speed dial.”  He remembers from the shop.  My heart skips about three beats and I slightly trip over nothing on the pavement.

We walk the rest of the way in silence and arrive at the door to climb the stairs to the second story.  As we reach the apartment, I pull out my key and realize the horror of what is probably behind waiting behind the lock.  “I’m so sorry - my roommate and I had a bit of a party last night, so it’s kind of a mess.”

He simply sighs and motions for me to proceed.  I let us in to the apartment and am relieved to see that Scott, or more likely Allison, did a bit of cleaning before they left for the day.  It’s not perfect, but it’s better than the war torn scene in which I left it this morning.  I make a mental note to buy a 24 case in thanks for Scotty.

I start to show him around the place, not that there’s much to see: “This is the living room, kitchen combination.” He chuffs in understanding.  I motion to the right: “That’s my room.  Off to the left, that’s Scott’s room and the bathroom.”  My mind starts to turn to mush once again.

He stands there, looking at me expectantly.  “Clothes?”

I fly into action: “Wait one second - I’ll grab some clothes from Scott.  You can start making your way to the bathroom.”  I lead the way to the left, dropping him off, and start bustling around in Scott’s room.  I pull out a larger pair of sweatpants as well as a Beacon Hills lacrosse t-shirt which will probably fit him and re-emerge.  

“I can take your clothes whenever you’re ready and throw them in the wash.  We can probably have all of this figured out by the time you shower and have your car back as the clothes are drying.”  I’ve stepped into the small bathroom with him at this point.

He finally takes off his aviators, and I see his full face staring at me for the first time.  Striking greenish-hazel eyes lock on mine as he sets the sunglasses on the sink.  He takes a step backward and actually _smirks_.  With that, he pulls the wet, now pink-splattered, white t-shirt over his head.  He’s standing, gloriously shirtless in my pale green bathroom.  That beautiful bankable face and body.  In my bathroom.

He hands the shirt to me.  I take it with my left hand while my right seems to move on its own.  “Stiles.”  He raises an eyebrow.

“What the hell is a “Stiles”?”

My hand is still out in front of me.  “It’s a nickname.  Believe me, the real name’s much worse.  The name’s Stiles Stilinski.  And you are…?”  He looks unsure. “It’s a handshake, it’s not going to bite, dude.”

“Don’t call me dude!”  He huffs and inches forward slowly, suspiciously, finally meeting the handshake without his gaze breaking.  “Derek. Derek Hale.”

His hand is surprisingly warm for someone carved from marble.  I gulp and somehow claw my way back to reality through the touch: “Nice to meet you.  Sorry about the circumstances.  I’ll go to the kitchen and call my dad  - throw the rest of the clothes into the hallway when you’re done.”  With that, I back away, gracefully hitting the door frame upon my exit and head for the kitchen.  I hear a chuckle behind me.  Asshole.

I pull my phone out of my pocket, and see I have 2 missed calls and four texts from Isaac:

 **Isaac - 11:52am:** _“Where are you?  Getting hungry here!”_

 **Isaac - 11:54am:** _“You planning on coming back anytime soon?”_

**Missed Call: Isaac - 11:55am**

**Isaac - 11:55am:** _“Patti said you left 5 min ago - where you at?”_

**Missed Call: Isaac - 11:57am**

**Isaac - 11:58am:** _“Call me, Stilinski!”_

How am I going to explain what just happened?  I don’t want to involve more people - it’s just going to make the grouchy, famous man in the bathroom more scowly, if that’s even possible.

 **Stiles - 12:01pm:** _“Sorry - Emergency.  Be back when I can._

_Thanks for holdin down the shop._

_Drinks on me to make it up to you.”_

I’m a bit startled when I hear the rest of the clothes thrown out onto the hallway floor and the door slammed behind them.

I feel I’ve done a pretty good job holding it together at this point, but Derek Hale is in my bathroom.  Derek Hale.  The dangerously gorgeous, Hollywood bad boy, television and movie star Derek Hale.  In Beacon Hills.  In the bathroom.   _My_ bathroom.  I have to remind myself to breathe.  Naked.  In the shower.  In my apartment.  

I slowly go to the hallway, picking up the clothes and bring them to the small utility closet to start the laundry.  No Downy here, Mr. Hale.  Just plain old discount detergent and stain stick.  

With the wash started, it’s time to contact the Sheriff.  The phone rings twice and then my dad picks up gruffly: “Another shoplifter?  You should just put up a sign.  It would be a lot faster than your whole: _I’ve Got The Sheriff On Speed Dial_ soliloquy.”  

It’s clear it’s time to get some new material.  “Hey Daddy-o.  Not a shoplifter, surprisingly.  I was wondering if you could do me a favor.”

He snorts. “How did I guess?”

“Hey! I’m your favorite son.  Please!?”  I know I’m whining now, bordering on pathetic.

“I’ll see what I can do.  What have you gotten yourself into this time?”  He sounds amused, as if this is a daily occurrence (okay, it might be).

“Well, a friend of mine had his car towed and we’re trying to get it back as quickly as possible.  Think you can help?”

“Stiles, your friends should know better than to park downtown without the city sticker.  Mrs. Collins will call that tow company every time.  You know she’s got nothing better to do.  I’m sure we can track it down.” He pauses, calculating: “Quid pro quo, my dear boy.  This one is going to cost you.”

I groan again, knowing that this is the inevitable.  “What did you have in mind?”

“My boy never comes by the house anymore.  Dinner: Saturday night.  You’re bringing steaks.”

“Daaaaad, you know you’re supposed to be watching the red meats.”  He’s not going to get away with this so easily.

“Don’t I know it. You’ve put an embargo with every grocer and butcher within 30 miles.  I would think you have nothing better to do with your time than to use whatever you’ve got on those poor folks to stop them selling me the prime cuts!”  He mumbled something else that sounded shockingly like exotic cursing.

“I can’t help it if I have more clout in this town than you.  Elected positions are fleeting; I’ve got real loyalty.”  I pause, thinking once more about the naked Adonis steaming up the bathroom.  “Okay - just this once.”

I hear him actually give a gleeful “Yes!” on the other end before he continues.  “What car are we looking for? Do we have a VIN number or a license plate?  Make and model?”

That would have probably been good to ask prior to sending the man into the shower.  “One sec - I’ll check.”

“You don’t know your friend’s car?  Who is this _friend_?”  

“I’m just being a Good Samaritan. Give me a minute.”  I put my phone down on mute and cautiously approach the bathroom.

I knock on the door, loudly, saying “I need your help with something!”

“It can’t wait?” Comes the barking response.

I yell over the water spout: “I need to know your car’s make and model, and your license plate number to track it down.”

“It’s a black, 2015 Camaro.  License plate L53 6429,” comes the short response.

I repeat the number back to myself twice, making sure I’ve got it correct.  Of course he would have a black camaro.  Driving through Beacon Hills in an auspicious sports car.  Makes total sense.

I rejoin my father on the phone and relay the information.  “Your friend sure has a flashy car.  I think I remember that one coming through the impound yard about an hour ago.  Expensive too.  You don’t forget a car like that.”  I can hear him drifting off toward mega horse powered Fantasyland.  He clears his throat: “Who did you say your friend was?”

“He’s just passing through and needed a helping hand.  We’ll be down to the station to collect it in within the hour.”

“Make sure he has a license and the car deed or registration on him.  I can’t be releasing a car like that into just anybody’s custody.”  He pauses.  “And Stiles: Medium rare on the steaks this Saturday.”

With that, he hangs up, knowing that he’s the victor.

I realize that some of the pink splatter is on my shirt as well and hurry to my room to change it before Derek exits the shower.  I pull on a new t-shirt, one that is slightly tighter across the chest and makes my arms look less like useless twigs (can’t hurt, right?) and am secretly glad that I found my good jeans this morning in my tired stupor.  

I check my phone again, scrolling through Twitter and Facebook trying to resist googling the latest on my hot mega star, bathroom friend.  I think I recall a stint in rehab a couple of years ago, when he was plowing his way through Hollywood starlets, but don’t remember anything particularly juicy as of late.  

I know that he’s due out for a big action flick next year and is the lead on that new HBO show about werewolves Allison had mentioned (the fact that it’s supposedly like soft core porn doesn’t hurt my interest either).  Werewolves are so in right now.  I practically slap myself on the forehead when I track through his purchases at the shop: superheroes and werewolves.  He’s doing research.  That, I can respect for sure.

Eventually, the water turns off and about 3 minutes later, he exits the bathroom in Scott’s sweats.

I can’t help but let out a small laugh when I see him: so different from the surly bad boy on the street.  He frowns and picks up his glare where he left off.

“We have a couple of options: your choice.  We can either go pick up your car now and come back here for your clothes, or we can hang out here until your clothes are done, pick up your car and we can leave from the station.”

The V between his eyes deepens, bringing the eyebrows dangerously close together.  “They have my car?”  

“Yes - your car didn’t have a city sticker and apparently you were parked illegally.  Mrs. Collins loves to call in those offenders, especially when the car is so flashy! We’ll go get it out; no hard done.”

“If there is any damage to my car, I’m suing everyone.”  So matter-of-fact.  It must be nice to have a lawyer on retainer.

“Whoa, dude.”  He rolls his eyes.  “No need to get litigious.  They took good care of your car.  Let’s go get it and then come back for your clothes.  Do you have the registration or the deed and your drivers license?”

With that, I head toward the utility closet once more, to transfer the garments to the dryer.

“The registration is in the car.  How far away is the station?”

“It’s about five minutes by car.  We’ll be taking my jeep.”  I load a couple of dryer sheets in for good measure and start the machine.  “We’re all set.  Let’s go, mate.”  Derek almost lets out a little growl.  “Hey, you said not to call you dude!”  

He scoffs and starts to head for the door with me stumbling to catch up behind him.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all of the kudos and comments which are always appreciated! Here is chapter 2 - next update will be in a week.


	4. Camaro Quest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The reclaiming on the camaro commences and finishes with a most unexpected farewell.

We make our way down the back stairs, to the parking lot behind my building.  He follows me to my baby and assesses the old girl.

“This is what you drive?  I think they recalled this model in 1987.”

My hackles start to rise: “Listen.  I know we have may have not gotten off to a great start and you’re wearing sweat pants that are a little too short right now because of me which is probably pissing you off, but that does not give you the right to talk that way about Roscoe!”

“Roscoe.  Your jeep’s name is Roscoe?”  He stares incredulously.

I move to the driver’s side: “It suits her.”  I look straight in his eyes and issue the challenge.  To my surprise, he drops his shoulders, puts on the aviators and rounds the car to the passenger side.  

I start up the jeep and engage the clutch.  With some finesse and practiced technique, she’s soon purring.  Maybe not purring, but it’s beautiful to my ears.

Derek pulls out his phone and starts reading intently through messages.  I can feel him tensing up beside me the longer that he looks at them.  I don’t know what possesses me to do it, but I slowly reach over over and gently push the hand holding the phone down to his lap.  “One thing at a time.”

I can’t believe it, but he lets me.  I rest my hand over his tense fist clutching the illuminated smartphone screen for a moment, turn my head at him and throw a small smile.   He takes three deep breaths and seems to arrive at some sort of momentary peace.  I release him and bring my hand, now tingling, back to the steering wheel.  He looks really good in my jeep, with the August sun gleaming over the worn interior.  I could swear I get a small smile in return.

“So, what’s got you all twisted up in knots?  You know, besides your car’s being held hostage, which we are going to fix super soon.”  I hear the smallest chuckle, almost like I’m imagining it.

I feel an inner struggle warring in the seat next to me.  I surprise myself by allowing him to work in the silence find a resolve.  “My work won’t stop trying to contact me.  I said I needed a mini-vacation.  Why is that so hard for people to understand?”

“So you come to Beacon Hills?  Doesn’t sound like much of a vacation.  Going alone to your fortress of solitude?”  I get another chuckle, and feel encouraged to proceed.  “I hope you’re at least going to make it into the mountains to snowboard or something.  I’ve always wanted to learn to snowboard.  What are your vacation plans?  Coming or going?”

I turn to look: I’ve got both eyebrows raised at me this time.  “Must be nice to never be alone in a conversation.”  He’s making fun of me; it’s almost playful, not mean like I expected. We’re starting to achieve a dynamic.  This I can work with.  He takes a long moment: “I’m at the tail end.  I decided to go stay at my friend’s cabin up in Montana for a week before I have to back to work.”

I don’t know if he has figured out I’ve got him pegged, so I decide to proceed with a bit more on the obvious side of questioning.  “Where do you work out of, L.A?”  He throws me a sideways glance, almost suspicious and then slowly nods.

“I’m working out of Plumas for the next two weeks before heading back to L.A.”

“The forest?”  My driving companion nods.  I bite my lip, musing: “Must be nice to travel for work.  I mean, I’m glad I have my shop as a home base, but a change of scenery must be nice once in a while.”

I expect to leave the thought as a hypothetical, so I almost jump when he answers me: “Must be nice to be able to put down roots.”  He drifts off as he directs his attention back to watching out the window.

With that, the silence returns to hang over the jeep, until about 2 minutes later when the police station comes into view.  I pull into an available spot, easing the old girl in lightly and jump out of the jeep to see the Deputy Boyd coming out of the station.

“Hey, my man!  What’s crack-a-lackin’?”  I pull him into some semblance of a bro-hug which he is not exactly the most willing to return, but humors nonetheless.  It strikes me in the moment that putting Boyd and Derek together will tip the balance on the strong, silent types.  I have to step up my game.

As Derek exits the car, I see what looks like a flash of recognition in Boyd’s eyes, but he doesn’t betray anything to the untrained observer of his stoic countenance.   

“Your dad’s in a meeting.  I’m handing the pick-up from impound.  Let’s circle around back.”  Boyd reaches out to shake Derek’s hand in introduction.  I notice with a bit of a sniff that Derek immediately reciprocates.

“Derek.  Nice to meet you, deputy.”

“Call me Boyd.  Heard you got quite the wild one back in the pen.  I trust you’ve got your license and registration on you?”.  These two are all business.

“License is with me; registration’s in the car.  Thanks for the help, Boyd.”

The next twenty minutes are spent exacting procedure.  I decide this is the best time to update Isaac on the afternoon’s schedule.  He picks up on the first ring; must be really busy around the shop.

“ _I hope you’re really satisfied from your extended lunch.  Thanks for leaving me all by myself._ ”

“Sorry, Isaac, I can’t hear you.  All this sarcasm leaked out of my phone and has clogged my ear.”  I hear him turning a page slowly in the background.  “What are you reading?”

“ _The new copy of Arrow.  It’s hard work staying up to date on all of the merchandise._ ”

“Yeah, you’re stretched real thin around the shop.  How many did you get the rest of the day today: two?”  I hear him snort through the phone.  It goes unsaid: I’m right.

“ _So what’s got you adventuring this afternoon?  You finally track down that pesky shadow, Peter Pan?_ ”

I snort back.  “You know that actually makes you one of my lost boys, right?”

The sigh from the other end seals it: he’s been adopted by the gang.  “I’m helping a guy who’s passing through town.  Mrs. Collins got his car towed and the BHPD is releasing it from impound.”

“ _You coming back to the shop today?_ ”

The question hangs with so much uncertainty which is strangely exhilarating. With how unpredictable this day has been so far, I can only answer truthfully: “I don’t know.”  

Such a simple thing to say on my end and Isaac accepts it.  We continue to chat through a couple of the online orders that have come through and the plan for the rest of this week.  It’s when we talk through Saturday that Isaac says something unexpected: “ _And then, Saturday night: steaks!_ ”

“I just talked to my dad about that like 30 minutes ago, and he’s already invited everyone for this Saturday?  Unbelievable!”  

“ _Apparently he’s had this one in the works for a while.  He’s been waiting for the right time to spring the end of summer barbecue you’re going to be hosting for everyone when you needed your next favor._ ”  

Every time I think I have him cornered, the man turns out to be a step in front of me.  I make a mental note to go shopping tomorrow and curse under my breath.  Guess I’m going to be getting that 24 case for Scotty a lot sooner than I thought.

I turn back to the lot and see Derek climbing in the driver’s seat of a truly beautiful sports car, signaling the end of talk-time with Isaac.  I say my goodbyes and hang up with him while jogging back to the jeep.

Derek guns the engine and drives up along side.  I signal for him to follow me back to the apartment so we can get him all squared away.

Driving back to my small apartment, I have a million thoughts running through my head.  We’ve never established that he’s _who_ he is.  We’ve shared a couple of seemingly poignant moments as people at this point.  With the seemingly endless stream of scenarios playing out over the five minutes back to my place, my heart starts beating faster and faster.  I feel like I’m not going to have a day like this again which freaks me out a bit.

I park in my spot in the lot while Derek pulls into a guest spot by the back door.  I smile at him and wave him to follow-up up the staircase, back to the apartment. 

Once we’re inside, I fetch his clothes from the dryer and bring them to him.  He takes the clothes wordlessly and returns to the bathroom to change.  I will admit that I will miss seeing him in the maroon Beacon Hills lacrosse tee.  It makes him seem almost attainable.

I fidget and start to restore more order to the apartment while he changes.  Finally, the door opens and he looks as mindblowingly good as when he entered the shop this morning, aviators hanging in the V of the restored white shirt.

I run to the kitchen, wanting to be polite (or keep him here as long as possible, if we’re being completely honest): “Can I get you something for the road?”.  He stands at the stove while I look through the fridge, crossing his arms.

“We have some bottled water,” I offer hopefully.

“No.” Of course, the monosyllabic response.

I offer a Red Bull, half a gatorade, and a small carton of orange juice, all of which he declines.  “I should be good to go.”  With that, he moves to leave.

I follow him to the door.  He turns back and looks at me, dips his head slightly and says the quietest “Thanks” perceptible.  He opens the door and exits, leaving me alone in the now darker apartment, somehow more muted and depressing now that the excitement is gone.

I start to walk back to my room revisiting all the things I wish I’d said, which sounded so sageful in the car.  I have every intention of falling face-first into my unmade bed when I hear a knock.

Abruptly, my direction shifts and I find myself almost jogging back to the door to throw it open.

He’s there, standing with an arm resting up on the door frame and the other in his pocket, looking every bit the perfect dream.  I stand there, frozen for a moment when he breaks the silence: “I forgot my bag.”

I practically slap myself out of my stupor and head to the coffee table while he steps back inside, allowing the door to shut behind him.  I gather the bag of the comics he bought from me and bring them back to him, mirroring the scene from earlier in the day.

A startling burst of courage comes over me while I start to hand over the bag.  Our hands both meet on it, his warm hand over mine.  “I’m sorry for how the day started and what you had to go through at the end of your vacation, but I’m not sorry that we met.  I hope you find what you’re looking for, Derek.”

There’s something about his eyes that withdraws for a moment, but he doesn’t break contact, those green eyes holding mine so powerfully.  “Probably best not to tell anyone about this.”

“You got it.  I won’t tell anyone.  Well, I’ll tell myself sometimes, but don’t worry, I won’t believe it."

I start to look away, knowing that my face is coloring from embarrassment when his other hand leaps up behind my neck.  I draw a sharp intake of breath as our eyes meet again.  In a spontaneously fast, but smooth motion, he pulls me forward and our lips meet in the middle in solid and sure contact.

My hand seems to move on its own accord, flying up to his solid chest, hovering over his heart which I can feel is beating as fast and loudly as mine.  We stay there for what seems like an eternity, but also far too short as the rest of the world’s sounds and hues blend together into a seamless array of colors around us.  

It’s a simple kiss, innocent somehow but beautiful in its assuredness, mouths barely moving.  A slight sadness starts to creep in as I can feel the magical connection breaking far too soon for my liking.  The noise of the apartment, the street outside start to come back into focus as we begin to separate.

Our lips seem to hold onto each other's, stuck and unwilling to release while everything else calls us to divide.  As I feel the last of his soft bottom lip come apart from mine, we both draw back slowly, his hand still on my neck while mine covers his upper chest.  

His beautiful face remains inches from mine, looking peaceful and content, but as his eyes open, I can see a confusion darkening the hazel and its green flecks.

I stand more still than I ever have been in my life as he takes a step back, his hand receding to his pocket, while mine pulls over my lips, trying to feel the electricity now coursing through them.

With that, the door reopens and shuts quietly with Derek slipping out, disappearing into the August afternoon leaving me to face the rest of the day, knowing nothing has tangibly changed, but everything feels as though it has.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's another chapter! Enjoy!
> 
> Next Chapter to follow on Jan 19th.
> 
> Comments and always welcomed and appreciated!


	5. Smoke Signals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gaming night; a message arrives and with it seals the promise of a more exciting tomorrow.

The shadows start to creep up the walls as I play over the day’s events in my mind, flashing through the shop’s awkward moments: the strawberry milkshake explosion, the subsequent impound adventure, and sealing the day with a most unexpected kiss.

It’s when I allow myself to revisit the kiss that my mind starts racing.  Derek Hale kissed me.  He kissed me.  Holy shit.  I just got kissed by one of People’s sexiest men alive.  Of all the alive people.  In the whole _world_.  The world is a big place.  My feet start to carry me to my bedroom.  I shuck off my shoes and sit, cross legged on the bed

That’s when I pull out my phone.  I’ve got a couple missed texts from Scott, one from Erica, two from Lydia, and another from Allison, each asking what they should bring to the barbecue on Saturday as an almost cruel reminder that life has to go on.  I groan, answering each one and then find my laptop from under the bed.

I search his name and my browser loads a picture of him on a red carpet, looking broody and withdrawn.  He looks too good.  This is the same face that threw me a private smile in the jeep.  These are the eyes that filled with so much heat the second before the kiss.  A quick glance through his Wikipedia page: he’s definitely not listed as “out” or gay or anything, which isn’t surprising, I guess.

With the search, I see a small news article pop up: “Derek Hale, Jake Gyllenhaal, Considered in the Running for Untitled David Fincher Project.”  The guy who kissed me is mentioned in the same line as Jake Gyllenhaal and David Fincher.  My god.  

My phone starts to ring: “Hey.”

I can tell my faraway tone when I answer has caught Scott off guard: “ _Hey, you alright man?_ ”

I force the laptop shut and clear my throat: “Sorry, dude.  Got distracted for a second.  What’s happening?”

I zone out again, picking at a stray thread on my jeans pocket while Scott gives me a run-down of all things in Allisonland, with me mhmm-ing and ahh-ing along with him, trying to sound engaged.  “ _So you down for that Call of Duty session tonight?_ ”

“Of course!  We’re going to kick ass, my brother.”  It’ll be good to do something that will be able to take my mind off of the day’s events.  With that, we agree to Chinese for dinner and he says he’ll be home in an hour.

I text Isaac to let him know the plan and to thank him for closing up shop for me.  

About an hour later, we settle in with the XBox, Chinese, and beers.  Not the worst way to spend an evening.

During one of the breaks, Isaac moves to the kitchen to grab another bottle.  “So, what was your emergency earlier?”

With a flush, Scott exits the bathroom.  “What emergency?”

I remember back to Derek’s last words: “Probably best not to tell anyone about this.”  He didn’t specifically ask for a promise or anything, but something in me wants to protect him.  

I take a deep breath: “You know the guy who stopped into the shop today? I ran into him, literally, while out getting our food.”  They laugh, picturing me spazzing out all over some poor, helpless guy.  “Mrs. Collins had his car towed so I enlisted the Sheriff to help engage extraction.  Just wanted to help a loyal customer.”

Isaac quirks an eyebrow, shooting off a question in those bright blue eyes which then softens with his response: “Well, now we get steaks for it.  Thanks, Romeo.”

I chuckle in return.  It isn’t strange for me to want to have any sort of adventure, especially when there’s a guy involved in the story, so they don’t question the premise.  Isaac and Scott nod to each other.  Scott takes a couple of gulps out of his can and proceeds to burp in my direction.  “Let’s go, Stiles.  Back to work.”  That’s my bro.  He’s the charming one.

I absently ask Scott about his day.  He responds with a mumble: something about declawing kittens.  He works as a veterinarian's assistant while he’s finishing up his degree.  We’re a multifaceted bunch.   

This is how we spend the rest of the night, focused on the task at hand, eating eggrolls, and drinking what booze we have left.  This is how I thought the day would end when it began, with its depressingly repetitive bookends.  

* * *

 

“ _Seven A.M. the usual morning line up…_ ”

I roll off the couch onto the floor, feeling disgusted with the “Groundhog Day” track on which this day has started.  I forgot to change the damn alarm.  Shit.

Picking myself up off the floor, I can’t help but wonder if yesterday didn’t happen: was Derek Hale real?  Is it actually Thursday?

Glancing at the date on my phone’s screen, it’s true.  Life will be going on, and I’ll just have to go along with it.

I ride the day’s waves through the regular shower, work and lunch routine, making a few sales, but I do manage to pick up a truly awesome rare copy of All-American Comics from a guy who needed a quick sale.  That's about as high as the day gets on the excitement scale.

After we close the shop for the day, I run back to the apartment to pick up my jeep for a trip to the grocery store and pick the steaks and other accoutrements for Saturday night’s dinner extravaganza.   It’s nice to have something to look forward to.  I’ve been feeling weirdly empty all day.

With the warm sunset casting a golden glow over the apartment when I return home, I prepare to settle in for the night after putting away the groceries.

Scotty’s in the shower.  He texted me something earlier about a particularly gross day at the office.  I’m glad he’s in there.  He came home after helping to birth a horse a couple of weeks ago and I almost added to the stench by throwing up all over him.  I made him trash the shirt he was wearing.

I find refuge in my bed and pull out my laptop, logging into Facebook.  I had a couple of notifications ding while I was grocery shopping.  Erica’s been sending me Super City invitations like she’s a stockholder, so I’ve been mostly ignoring notifications for the last couple of days.

My newsfeed pops up with a messenger notification.  It almost looks like spam: I have a message from a “DeSte Ha” with a weird, triangular-looking, swirly symbol for the profile picture.  I’m always hesitant to open new messages because of the read receipts: the worst idea of all of the ideas.  I’ve tried to turn it off, but it’s been proving harder than removing that terrible, free U2 album from my iTunes.  What catches my attention is that the read line starts with: “ _Stiles, Thanks for the help…_ ”

Oh my god.  I’m almost terrified to open it at this point, knowing that once it’s been opened, it cannot be unseen and he’ll know that I’ve read it.  I almost try to convince myself that it’s a trick, but no one could have put everything together, except Boyd, but this isn’t his style.

 _How would he have found me?_  I scoff to myself in realizing that's a stupid question: he wouldn't have to sift through a plethora of "Stiles Stilinskis" on Facebook.  I'm strangely grateful at this point that my name is a special fucking snowflake.

My clicking curiosity gets the better of me after a 15 second very-real internal struggle.

“ _Stiles, Thanks for the help yesterday.  I’m staying in Sacramento through the weekend and have something for you for helping me.  Let me know if you want to come by and I’ll send you the details. - Derek_ ”

He doesn’t mention the kiss; I’m not sure if I expected him to.  I have to go; he has something for me.  I wasn’t anticipating anything close to this today.  I mean, I only helped him track down his car and got pink milkshake splattered all over his clothes.  He has something for me?  Part of me hopes that the present is a booty call.  My mind starts to flood with possibilities, most of which are clouded with an X-Rating.  I force those thoughts away as I try to type a coherent response:

“ _Derek, nice to have met you.  Sorry again about everything, but I’m glad that it mostly worked out.  I can be free tomorrow and Roscoe should be feeling up to a road trip (keep the comments to yourself about that one).  Let me know the when and where and I’ll be there tomorrow. - Stiles_ ”

Short and sweet.  I figure it’s the best way to go.  His mention didn’t betray much emotion (shocker), so I try to keep mine on the same level.  Of course I’m going.  I can’t pass this up.  I pull my phone out of my pocket to call Isaac.

He picks up after 3 rings: “ _Hey Stiles, what’s happening?  You get your foot stuck in the toilet again and Scott’s laughing too hard to help you get it out?_ ”

I let out an offended huff.  “That was ONE time, Isaac.  Rude.”  He laughs as I continue: “I need a favor.”

“ _Another one?  I’m getting so very drunk on all these favors that you owe me.  What do you need?_ ”

“Can you handle the day alone tomorrow?  I have to go out of town.”  I pray he doesn’t ask too many questions.  My prayers are not answered.

“ _What do you need out of town?_ ” comes the suddenly interested response.  This is so out of the depth of our usual routine, I can’t blame the kid.

I sigh: “Okay, remember the guy I spent helping yesterday?  He wants me to meet him.  He has a gift for me because I got him his car back.”  

“ _He’s inviting you out of town?  Is this a hook-up?  Does Scott know?_ ”  Asshole.  I knew I should have made up a long lost family member in need or something.

“I don’t know.  I think he might have some money or something.  People with money give people gifts when they help.  That’s all.”  It’s a thin response and I think he can tell that I’m not divulging everything, but thankfully he lets it go.

“ _Fine.  I’ll handle it.  Enjoy your three day weekend.  My steak better be grilled to perfection on Saturday._ ”

“Thanks, man.  I promise, I’ll make it up to you, my friend.”  

It’s settled, I’m going to Sacramento tomorrow.  Somewhere in Sacramento.  I don’t even know where I’m going yet.  I reopen Facebook and have a message notification blinking for me.  He already answered back and my heart lurches, feeling like he must have been waiting on it.

“ _I’m staying at the Citizen Hotel in the Penthouse Suite.  Give them the name Gary Hampton at reception and they’ll direct you where to go.  Plan on arriving around 2:30pm.  See you tomorrow. Drive safe. - D_ ”

He’s using Gary Hampton for his name?  The Astounding Wolf-Man?  I think of his brooding demeanor.  If he was an animal, wolf would be the first thing to come to mind, so I guess it’s not far off.   The guy uses a comic book alias as a pseudonym; I feel like I’m falling in love already.  I have to work particularly hard to push that thought from my mind.

He wants me to drive safe.  In my twisted head I feel like he cares.  Well, he cared enough to get me “something” and find me on Facebook to send me a message.  Maybe my delusions aren’t too far off.  I internally cross my fingers and send a quick response.

“ _Roger that.  See you tomorrow. -S_ ”

I somehow resist the overwhelming urge to friend him, not wanting to seem too invested in our random connection or have the option to stalk him mercilessly if he accepts the request.  With that, I sign out of Facebook and I google the Citizen Hotel for the address.  It’s a beautiful art-deco 1920’s style hotel.  And he’s in the penthouse suite.  I’ve never even ridden in a limo, let alone set foot in a penthouse.  Holy shit.

I start planning for tomorrow: oil change in the morning for Roscoe is a must, as well as stocking for the road trip.

Thankfully, Scott doesn’t notice I’m quieter than usual for most of the evening.  I let him know that I’m going out of town, but unlike Isaac, he doesn’t ask many questions, just accepting it.  He’s my best bro for a reason.

After we turn off the Xbox for the night, I settle into my bed for an uneasy sleep.  I can’t help thinking of all the ways tomorrow could turn out and wondering what Sacramento and Derek-Freaking-Hale might have in store.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With the lovely encouragement and an unexpected change in my schedule, I figured I should put out the next chapter.
> 
> The response has been practically overwhelming this first time fanfic writer!
> 
> Any feedback or comments are encouraged!!
> 
> Next chapter drops January 19th and I mean it this time. :-D


	6. The Junket

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sacramento, here we come.

I can’t pretend it was the most restful night of my life as my mind wanted to be everywhere at once, but I finally managed to fall asleep.  I woke up around 8am feeling excited and obviously anxious to start the day.

I’m almost shocked when everything goes according to plan.  Shower, shamefully model a couple of outfit options in the mirror, muss my hair until it decides to partially cooperate, and load a new road trip mix onto my phone.

Now outside of the apartment, I slide into the jeep to head over to my favorite cafe for coffee, then to Mike’s Auto for the oil change.  It feels like Mike’s newest minion is moving more slowly than normal, although I know he’s not; I just want to get on the road.  Settling payment, I start the journey after a quick stop for supplies and gas at the station by the freeway.  

I take a moment to gather myself, plug my phone in to the aux port’s cable (I finally tricked out the stereo and upgraded it this year) ready to make the drive.  I’m right on track, ready to make the 2 hour trip down the 5, accompanied by Hozier, St. Vincent, and Arcade Fire.

I’m almost grateful for the time alone to process and anticipate what the day will be like.  My mind is spinning through so many unanswered questions which only time will answer.  I just know that every time I think about looking into those beautiful hazel eyes again, I start to feel butterflies dancing around in my stomach.

I cruise into Sacramento around 2pm and navigate my way around to find the Citizen Hotel.  It’s August in California, so everything’s sunny and beautiful.  This part of town looks really swanky.  I’m able to find unrestricted free parking two blocks from the hotel by some miracle.  Everything’s coming up Stiles.

Making my way to the hotel, I feel like my feet are walking faster and faster with each step, the physical manifestation of the anticipation and nerves banging around in my mind.

I reach the front doors and catch myself in the reflection.  I straighten out my clothes and hair then push my way inside.  A quick glance at my phone tells me that it’s 2:20pm so I decide to look around a little.  There’s an older man at reception I can feel monitoring me with a suspicious look on his face.  I look down and smooth my clothes again.  I thought I did well today: my stone wash jeans, and short sleeved light grey button down with skinny black tie, under a thin, red, short sleeved cardigan.  The usual black converse finish the look.  Great, now I’m even more self-conscious.

I mill around until my phone reads 2:27pm and approach the judgemental reception man.  “Can I help you?”  He doesn’t sound like he means it.

“Umm, I’m here to see Gary Hampton in the penthouse suite.”  This earns me a raised eyebrow.  Clearly this is not what he was expecting.  He regards me questionably while grabbing the main phone on the desk.

“And who shall I say is calling?”  He takes this really seriously.  I’m reminded of Tim Curry in _Home Alone 2_.  That movie rocks.

“My name’s Stiles Stilinski.  He’s expecting me.”  I get another look of disdainful confusion at the name.  Of course.

He picks up the phone and keys in a code.  After a few moments, someone must pick up on the other end.  “I have a Stiles Stilinski for Mr. Hampton.”

The person on the other end must give an affirmative response, because the next thing I know, I’m led to the elevator by a legit bellhop, with one of those hats on his head.  I feel like I’ve actually travelled backward in time.

He doesn’t say anything to me when we get in the elevator, and my mouth just starts going.  He pushes a button and inserts a plastic card into a slot in the control panel.  “This is my first time going to a penthouse.”  He doesn’t look surprised to hear it.  “Have you worked at the Citizen long?  It’s pretty sweet.  I like your hat, dude.  I’ve never ridden in an elevator where someone else is conducting it before.”

The bellhop releases a sigh and says nothing.  I wonder if I’m supposed to tip him.  I dig around in my pocket and find a crumpled dollar bill which he looks simply thrilled to receive when the doors open.  He gingerly smooths it out like it’s been laced with rat poison and then folds it into his coat.

“Thanks for the ride, boss.”  I toss him a hearty thumbs up.  With that the doors close and I turn around.  I’m standing in a little foyer, with a door stamped with gold lettering: _Joie de Vivre Suite_.  There are comfy little chairs and an end table on either side, all very high end.  As if I needed another reason to feel out of place.

I take a second to gather myself, then decide to knock on the door.

To my surprise, not Derek but a tiny but very sharp looking lady opens holding a sleek tablet with painted long, red nails.  “You’re late, but we can still get you through.”  She ushers me inside and keeps chattering.  “Mr. Hale’s finishing up the shoot, so I’ll have the last couple of interviews after.  Should be about 10-15 minutes.”

I open my mouth and shut it several times, I’m sure evoking fish-like imagery in her mind.  It dawns on me: she thinks I’m a reporter.  I see a couple of other people in the suite’s main room, all dressed really well.  Oh my god.  I’m caught between wanting to correct her and looking for an exit strategy.  I’m about to obey the flight impulse welling up in my gut when she speaks to me again: “Laura didn’t say: what outlet are you from?”  

She thrusts a large folder into my hands.  The cover is embossed with a poster for “Shifters”, with a broodier-than-normal looking Derek Hale in the center.  He’s doing a press junket for the new show.  What the fuck am I doing here for this?  My mind spits out the first thing I can think of: “Stiles Stilinski: Alter Ego Magazine”.  Alter Ego?  The comic book related magazine wouldn’t be covering something like this.

She stares at me for a moment as if trying to place what the magazine even is, but then dismisses whatever thought kept her, tapping a note on her tablet.  She corrals me over to a seat near a large window.  The guy next to me clears his throat: “I hate when these things run long.  Like we don’t have anything better to do than wait on spoiled stars?  Carson Spencer: Good Day Sacramento.”

He reaches out a hand to me for a shake which I automatically receive.  “Stiles Stilinski, Alter Ego Magazine.”  He nods then pulls out his phone, scrolling lazily.

I decide to mirror him and pull out my own.  I log into Facebook to see if I had any other missed messages or notifications and send a reply to Scott who let me know that he finally beat Allison in a game of _Words With Friends_.  A small burst of pride flares within me; that’s actually a really big day for him.

After a couple of minutes, a beautiful, dark haired woman with mischief in her smile comes out to greet me.  “Stiles, right?  Derek is ready to see you.”  I notice her striking green eyes, reminding me of the ones that had held my gaze so intensely only two days before.

I fly up to follow her.  She speaks easily to me: “So, Alter Ego Magazine?  That’s a new one.  I’m Laura Hale, Derek’s manager.”  His sister then.  I did not realize that I would be meeting family today.  “You’re delectable.” She actually licks her lips at me.  “We should start paying more attention to the indie comic mags if this is typical of who they’ll be sending us to play with.”  Her words make me feel like she’s switching a tail behind her, toying with a poor little mouse.  I’m equal parts fascinated and terrified of her.

She practically shoves me into a room off of the suite’s main hallway and shuts the door behind me before I even have time to respond.

It’s an old-fashioned, fancy room with mahogany lining from the floor to the middle of the wall above which hangs yellow and white vertical striped wallpaper.  Gatsby and his friends could totally party down in this room.  In the center, he sits on the couch, looking at me cautiously.  His face is completely frozen in indifference stone-set with the most neutral expression I have ever seen.  That’s right, the last time we were a room together, he kissed me.

“Alter Ego Magazine?”

I stumble forward to the sitting chair across from the couch.  “I didn’t know what to say; the scary looking tablet lady asked me what magazine I was from and I said the first one that came to mind.”  Here I am, sitting across from the most handsome face I can imagine.  Today he’s dressed in dark jeans again with a skintight charcoal henley stretched over that chest.  My mouth may have started watering a just a touch.

He almost looks amused in turn. The silence looms between us for a few moment.  I see his face move toward something resembling a resolve. He finally goes to speak when the door opens.  “I trust the interview is going well?”  Laura is back.  She goes to the desk and makes a note on the pad of paper sitting there.  “Derek is going to be playing the lead in Christopher Nolan’s new sci-fi film out next April.  You can ask him about that as well.”

With that, she turns on her killer stiletto heel and exits the room again.

“So, that’s your sister?  She seems...nice.”  He actually snorts in response.

“That’s what you got from the first meeting?” The raised brows fall back into a concerned V.  “Sorry about all this, by the way.  It was supposed to be over by now.”  It’s a borderline ramble, betraying a bit of nerves which comforts me slightly.  

He clears his throat, and draws himself together, looking all-business.  “Listen Stiles, thanks for coming all this way.  I wanted to thank you again for helping me out.  I even got out of the parking ticket.”  He cracks the smallest of smiles.  “I have something for you.”

He pulls a bag, _the bag from my shop_ , from behind the couch and hands it to me.  It isn’t that heavy.  “Should I open it now?”  He nods me on.  I pull out a copy of _The Walking Dead 1_ graphic novel.

“Open it.”  I turn to the title page feeling my heart rate speed up slightly to find a brief autographed note from Robert Kirkman on the inside.

_“Hale, Stay sharp.  - Robert Kirkman”_

“I believe you said he was something like a friend of yours.”

I’m taken aback.  I can’t believe that he remembered.  I told him about the Robert Kirkman signed copy of _Wolf-man_ when he came into the shop.  Everything about this is making my brain go into overdrive and I can feel myself starting to overheat.  “I really don’t know what to say.”

He smirks as me: “That must be a first.”  The smile is fleeting as he shifts on the couch uncomfortably.  “I also wanted to apologize for the other thing that happened.  I seriously don’t know what came over me and I wanted to make sure that you were fine about it.”

Derek can’t even bring himself to say “kiss.”  He looks really small all of the sudden.  I twitch in response: “Absolutely fine about it.  The most fine.  Everything’s fine here.”

His eyebrows furl together, as if he’s trying to work through something.  “I never..”  His gaze breaks when Laura comes blazing back into the room.

“Time’s up.  You get everything you need?”  She stands imposing, with her arms crossed.

My eyes flash back to Derek for a moment.  He now looks withdrawn, completely stoic.  We both stand as I extend my hand to shake.  “Very nearly.  Nice to see you, Derek.”

With that, I pick up the book and bag and make my way to leave.  Now out of the room and able to breathe again, I find myself starting to get angry.  I  drove all this way to get a five minute chat, a handshake, and a book?  He could have just asked for my address and sent it to me with a generic autographed picture.  What an asshole.  What a waste of my time.

All I want to do is get out of the suite and back to my jeep.  I make it into the foyer and press the button to call the elevator when I hear footsteps fast approaching behind me.  

I turn to see Derek Hale closing in on me.  He comes out into the foyer, leaving a crack in the practically shut door behind him.  He turns to me and words breach over the sides of his carefully crafted silent fortifications.  This time, he actually starts to ramble.

“I really thought this would be over by now.  I’m such...I’m just...I’m sorry about all this shit.”  A look of genuine frustration crosses his darkened features.  He takes another step into my space and meets my eyes, speaking softly: “Can you wait around for 30 minutes?  We’ll be all done in 30, I swear.”  He hands me a piece of paper with a number scribbled on the hotel’s stationary.  “Send me a text.  Let me know where to meet you.”

I take the paper, nodding frantically.  I hear Laura call his name impatiently from inside as he turns to leave.  At the door, he nods back at me and reenters the suite.

The anger that had been brewing dissipates immediately with this most important development: _I have Derek Hale’s number_.  During the descending elevator ride, I decide to put the book in the jeep and find somewhere to hang.

I feel good back out in the fresh air, breathing deeply as I walk down the busy street after I exit the hotel.  I find my jeep and place the bagged book reverently under the passenger’s seat for safe keeping.

Walking back up 10th Street, I see a nice looking bar directly across the street from his hotel where I can sit, the Parlare Euro Lounge.  It’s so trendy all the vowels in the logo are upside down.  

I enter the lounge, immediately feeling underdressed which is becoming the main theme of the day.  It’s mid afternoon, so it’s not full, but a few groups of people are talking while sitting on nice chrome-colored couches.  Slow music is playing softly over the speaker system.  

After finding and using the bathroom to take the “I have to pee” edge off (I think my road trip beverages went straight through me), I wash my hands under the very european faucet and splash a bit of water on my cheeks which seem a bit reddened.  I inspect myself in the mirror, looking refreshed and a little less scared than I expected.

Back out in the bar area, I spot and head for a couch area by the hotel-facing window when a beautiful girl with blonde hair comes over to greet me.

She looks me up and down, keeping her smile firmly in place.  “I’m Stacey, I’ll be helping you today.  What can I start you with?”  

“Umm...I’m just waiting on a friend.”  I decide I’m feeling ballsy.  “If you wouldn’t mind bringing me a water until he gets here, I would really appreciate it.”  

She nods to herself and has a flash of smugness cross her face, as if laughing at a personal joke. I sink down even lower into the couch cushions.  

I shake her smarmy look out of my mind as I pull the treasured piece of paper out of my pocket to enter the number into my phone.  I don’t even trust myself to add him as a contact.

 **Stiles - 3:17pm:** “It’s Stiles -

I’m at the bar across the street: Parlare.

Let me know if you want to meet here or somewhere else.”

I read the message at least four times before I send it.  I finally pull the metaphorical trigger and turn my attention back to the bar around me.  I don’t think I even want to _know_ what a drink costs here.

I scroll through the rest of my messages making sure I haven’t missed anything.  I get a few “ _I’m starting to get really hungry, Stiles_ ” messages from the Sheriff.  I have a feeling Steak Saturday is going to be his favorite day for a while.  It’s a nice reminder of Beacon Hills, which seems so far away from where I’m currently sitting.

Stacey reapproaches with a tall, thin glass of water in her hand dressed with a neon green straw.  “Let me know if I can get you anything else.”

I try to amuse myself by cycling through some different games on my phone when the text finally comes in.

 **Unknown Number - 3:32pm:** “ _Sit tight.  Coming to meet you._ ”

The realization almost takes the wind out of me: I’m going to be spending an evening with Derek Hale.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I found some unexpected time, so here's another chapter.
> 
> Thanks so much for the kind words in the comments! Hope you all like this one too.
> 
> Feedback is always appreciated! Next chapter will be out on Monday night 1/19


	7. Concrete Connector

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spending the day in Sacramento with Derek Hale.
> 
> This is not a date. 
> 
> (It might be a date.)

I force myself to stop drooling out the window like a dog waiting for his master to come home.  Instead, I opt for the “Playing-It-Cool” approach, scrolling through Twitter on my phone, when I hear him come through the door and steal a glance from the corner of my eye.  He’s got the aviators on again.  My now Pavlovian response activates, bringing my mouth to literally water.  


Derek comes over to meet me, removing the aviators as he walks.  I look up as he takes the corner seat adjacent on the chrome couch next to mine.  The corners our our respective arm rests meet in an “L-Shape.”  Basically, he’s chosen to sit the closest to me he could without being on the same couch which my mind is interpreting a thousand different ways.  


“Hey, Derek,” I manage somehow.  


I see “Server Stacey” approaching with a look of surprise on her face.  She openly adjusts her cleavage when she walks over.  I start to hate her.  She approaches our little couch area to make her presence known.  “I’m Stacey.”  Her voice is sweeter this time, clearly more interested in our corner of the bar now that my guest has arrived. “We’ve got a couple of specials today I can tell you about.  Anything I can get for you?”  


He barely looks at her as he declines the offer, “I’m fine.”  


She tries not to lose her composure, but I can tell that she’s a bit rattled, unused to this sort of dismissive reaction.  “Well...let me know if there’s anything I can do.”  She glances back at me as if I’m going to have an answer for her but finding my unhelpful blank look staring her down, she subtly shakes her head to herself, and then makes her way back to the bar.  


“How were the rest of your meetings?”  I decide to open the conversation with business.  


I get a huff in response.  He looks unsure but manages to answer back.  “It’s pretty much the same thing every time.  I hate them.”  


“Being expected to talk with people all day?  That actually sounds like your personal Utopia.”  He lets out an audible throaty laugh.  It sounds dusty, like he hasn’t done it in a while.  Every part of me longs to hear it again; it actually warms me, knowing that I got it out of him.  


“Exactly.” I think I catch a flush spreading across his cheeks, but he looks away leaving me unsure.  “I really thought it would be over by the time you arrived.  I’m glad that you got here alright.”  


“It was an easy drive, dude!  Glad that it worked out.  It’s not every day people I accidentally assault with diner food request a follow-up.”  I shift gears.  “I didn’t know that you all do much press in Sacramento.  This town doesn’t seem like a huge media hub.”  


“I was in town for an event at the statehouse we did this morning.  A photographer decided to meet me here to get the new ad out faster, so Laura arranged a full junket.”  He begins to mumble: “She likes to torture me.”    


“What were you doing a shoot for?  Did they come out with a new cologne: Extra Broody Edition or something?  I would assume you would be the first and only choice for spokesperson.”    


He lets out a short laugh, shaking his head softly, eyes not leaving mine.  “It was for watches actually.”  I open my mouth to retort but he beats me to it eyebrow raised: “The watches were not broody either.  I guess mine was the only broody face present.”  


“You actually made a watch joke.”  I start looking over him frantically.  “Did your internal wiring short or something?”  The warm smile slowly lights up his face again.  “You were at the statehouse?  You’ve been busy.”  


“I was at the launch for an initiative for a new campaign to stop drunk driving.  Laura and I have been involved for a while.”  He suddenly sits back, eyes leaving mine, and I realize just how close we’ve been sitting.  My face asks the question this time and he exhales before continuing: “My parents and my younger sister were killed by a drunk driver when I was fifteen.  A state senator was a friend of my dad’s, so he asked if we would come to the signing.”  


His eyes are completely on his hands, which he is slowly rubbing together in his lap.  I reach over and put my hand on his, flashing my mind back our ride in my jeep.  “I’m glad you get to do that.  It helps.”  


He glances up at me, clearly surprised by my response.  Most people just seem to flounder around with “I’m sorry’s” waiting for you to say that it’s okay, which it never fully is.  


“I lost my mom.”  Talking about it still makes my throat dry.  I force myself to go on: “I was eight.  She had frontotemporal dementia...it’s kind of similar to Alzheimer's.  My dad and I send money to their foundation every year on her birthday.” I hold a moment longer and then slowly withdraw myself back to my side.  “I know how much it still hurts.”  


I resist the strong urge to just cross over and curl up in his side to comfort each other while he nods his head slowly in understanding.  My defense mechanism tells me to change the subject again.  I force a smile and stand up.  “It’s a little glitzy in here for my liking.  Do you wanna go walk somewhere?”  


An almost grateful expression colors his features as we walk outside, leaving the bar behind us.  “I saw a city park when I was driving in, 4-5 blocks down 10th.  What do you think?  Want to check it out?”  


He nods slowly back at me and we begin to stroll down the street.  I can’t believe he walking here with me.  We track through a couple more subjects while we make our way to the park.  He asks me about college, how I ended up as a store owner.  While we walk through the park’s gardens, I tell him all about Scott and the rest of the gang.  He brightens up when I mention Boyd, glad to recognize someone from his Beacon Hills adventure.  


He, in turn, tells me about his life back home and how he got into acting.  It’s a little strange, but this is the first time we’ve actually talked about his career out loud.  He hesitantly explains that he used to stutter as a child; he glares at me, as if willing me to make a joke so he can sulk all over me when it’s cracked.  I simply smile, bump his shoulder, urging him to continue.    


His mom got him into a school play. He grew up in L.A. and an agent happened to see him perform in his second show at school.  At seven years old, he ended up in a movie with Robert DuVall.  Not too shabby.  He quit acting after the accident and derailed for some time, but got back into it after Laura told him that he was such a miserable disappointment she couldn’t stand being around him.  


I can tell that there’s more to the story, but I don’t press him.  He turns back to happier times, sharing that his mom took him to every audition, day on set, and premiere.  She was so hopeful that he was getting over being so shy.  “It helps me remember her.  You know, to continue.”  


I decide to share something in return: “Roscoe, my jeep?  She was my mom’s.”  He nods in understanding, looking at me through bright eyes.  He actually takes my hand this time, looking at me all the while for permission.  


As soon as the moment came, it clears, my hand aching at the loss as he pulls his own away.  I’m finding it easy to talk with him, the man I had previously crowned the King of Monosyllabic Sentences which I find immeasurably shocking.  


It’s a nice day, relatively cool for this time of year in Northern California.  I laugh through several stories he tells about ridiculous co-stars, fussy and compulsive directors, and strange interviews he’s had.  I sense that he hasn’t talked like this in a while, and I feel myself getting pulled closer and closer into his long hidden inner self.  


Around 7pm (holy shit, have we really been talking for that long?), he hears my obvious stomach rumbling.  


“There’s an Italian restaurant just across from the park.”  The invitation is rhetorical; I agree enthusiastically, thanking him for his attention to the needs of a growing boy.  I'm just glad he doesn't seem sick of me yet.  I'm sure not sick of him.  


As I enter the crosswalk, a sedan whips by seemingly out of nowhere.  I’m tugged backward and twist right into his strong chest, my head slotting in the curve of his neck.  Oh my god, he smells so good.  I breathe into his ear. “You saved my life!”  


He laughs: “Worth it.”  With that, he draws back with a shy expression on his beautiful face, and I’m overcome by just feeling how close we are.  Suddenly, his expression grows distant and he looks behind me.  We separate quickly, gathering our bearings.  I preoccupy by fussing with and smoothing the front of my cardigan.  


It’s then that the complications of today hit me all at once.  I'm here with this guy, this totally gorgeous guy.  I want to rub my face all over his shadowed stubble and make him laugh forever. But, It’s clear that he’s completely unavailable to me.  Fantastic.  


I think he can read the sad look which tugs at the corners of my mouth.  He clears his throat, apparently ready to move on from the moment.  He leads me across the street, into the restaurant.  


The food’s heavenly, and the atmosphere is friendly.  It doesn’t feel too swanky, or judgemental which is just right for me.  Derek looks at home here too, surprisingly.  I’m able to get myself back into the moment and we talk like we had all afternoon, although I can tell we’re both feeling edgy.  


“Thanks for saving my life before.  Seems like we can’t stop bumping into each other.”  


A weak smile tugs up the corners of his mouth.  “You have a serious spacial reasoning problem that needs some attention.”  I can feel the mood between us relax a tick more and we ease into the rhythm we had established in the park.  


We cover hobbies, favorite things, and injury stories (my mine are classics). Derek puts up with me geeking over comic books for at least a healthy 20 minute stretch.  He’s actually able to kind of hold his own, engaging me in a DC vs. Marvel discussion (although it’s mostly film-based for him), which I embarrassingly turn into a lecture.  


I enjoy vodka pasta with chicken while he works on a seafood dish.  I chastise him for the pick, commenting on how gross seafood is and that he’s “eating seabugs”.  He shakes his head in amusement and tells me to pick out a wine, laughing heartily when I look at the different types, clearly lost.  He looks confident here and more at ease than I would have guessed his originally stern outer shell would allow.  A smiling voice in the back of my head suggests that it’s because he’s with me.   _Stop it, Stiles: Danger Ahead._  


We touch on sports teams: he’s a Dodgers fan, go figure, and laughs at my loyalty to the Mets.  We argue over players and sports scores. He really loves baseball and gets this endearing childlike look when he talks about the game.    


“You’re good are you, Champ?  I bet there’s bloodshed spilled over first pick at the semi-annual HBO softball game.”  


He snorts in response to my quip.  “That’s why they make me captain, waterboy.”  


He’s playful and looks genuinely happy to be with me.  The weird thing is that the longer I’m with him, the less out of place I feel.  


He says that he would have probably wanted to play professionally if he wasn’t acting, which I don’t find surprising.  My mind decides to reward me in that moment with a vision of him in baseball pants.  He actually has to say my name twice to bring me back down to earth. I’m greeted with That Smirk™ as I flail back to attention.  


I tell him all about warming the bench during high school lacrosse.  It’s not nearly quite as impressive, but seems to entertain him all the same.  


His phone then interrupts while I’m recounting my one lacrosse-related moment of glory, beeping twice at him.  He picks up the phone with an apologetic look on his face.  “Laura,” he manages to mumble.  


I take that moment to glance at my own phone, realizing how dark it has gotten outside and shock myself that it’s nearing 10pm.  Driving back to Beacon Hills and rolling in after midnight is going to suck.  We haven’t seen the server in quite a while.  


“Laura needs me to come sign a contract we just got in.  She left it back at the hotel for me.”  He looks uncomfortable, almost hesitant to leave the safety and security of the restaurant.  


I force myself to smile at him reassuringly.  “My jeep is on the way back to the hotel.”  He nods, but looks conflicted.  


Derek searches out the server among the tables and waves her over.  She brings over the check which he settles.  I offer to pay at least half, but he insists that he wants to take care of it which doesn’t particularly help the argument pinging around my stupid head like a pinball about whether this is a date or not.  


Back on the street, we walk quietly to the jeep, the mood cycling downward between us.  All too soon, Roscoe makes her appearance.  I stand at the driver’s side door and turn to face him, completely out of my depth.  


The light from the streetlamp illuminates half of his perfect face; he looks about as lost as I feel.  We’ve been together for about seven fucking hours and this day has been so indelibly woven into the fabric of my life, I can’t imagine driving back to Beacon Hills and trying to forget it even happened.  


There’s so much unsaid between us, I realize.  I keep trying to convince myself that I’m just deluded, that I’ve been reading this all wrong.  This isn’t a date, the kiss didn’t mean anything.  This isn’t a date, Stiles, and he’s the same completely unattainable dark, handsome stranger who came into my shop.   _This is not a date._  I’m finding it harder and harder to lie to myself.  


I go to open my mouth when he starts to crowd me into the door, his arm resting on the top of the frame.  The memory of my apartment sweeps over my vision.  He swallows then  whispers:  “I...I’d never really kissed a guy before.”  


I look at him, dumbfounded, feeling a heat pooling at the base of my spine from the closeness.  He steals a glance down the street and then squarely fixes his attention back on me, breathing evenly as he continues: “I’d like to do it again.”  


The green eyes look so hopeful, pushing me over the edge.  I just need it.   _Now_.  


I grab toward him, fisting his shirt, pulling him to me, and locking our lips back together.  Where the first kiss had been innocent with a steady electric current running between us, the second our lips meet this time, that same energy charge detonates.  


He’s everywhere at once, hands gripping my shoulders then clasping behind me to pull me closer to him, while mine fly to either side of his chiseled face.  My lips part, drawing him into my mouth and I bite down on his lower lip, just enough to draw a growl from deep in his chest.  


I’m slammed into the jeep with his left hand firmly on my waist while the other runs along the top line of my jeans.  His hand slips in between the fabric of my shirt and denim.  My skin starts to flame up from the trail he leaves.  His thigh shoves between my knees, inciting a groan on my end, while his tongue forces its way inside me - I’m invaded and completely surrounded.  


My skin is overwhelmingly sentient while my mind just shuts down.  I’m at his mercy as he explores every part of my mouth and body he can reach.  I’m grinding hard and slow against his leg and reach down to cup his firm ass, bringing him even closer.  The denim hardness rubs as he works down from my lips to my neck, scraping his teeth over my sensitive skin.  


His stubble, my god that stubble, brings up goosebumps all over my arms while he sucks a mark into my neck.  “Fuuuck.  Derek...Unghhh”  My own teeth catch my bottom lip as I stifle a loud moan, grinding at a faster pace with my hand slipping into his jeans tracing down the base of his spine.  


Derek surfaces, presses a heated, dirty kiss to my lips then slowly draws back, breathing labored, to rest his forehead against mine.  I look up to see an almost vulnerable look in his eyes: “Please tell me you don’t have to go home tonight.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't tell you all how grateful I am for the positive feedback!
> 
> I will try very hard to get the next one out before next Monday, but you will have something by 1/26 at the absolute latest. Thanks for sticking with me!
> 
> (The next chapter starts to earn the assigned rating) :-D
> 
> As before, comments are always appreciated!


	8. Midnight Spark

_As if I would say no._  


I barely remember the four block sprint back to the hotel, with Derek breathing in my ear promises of the night to come.  We find the side entrance right by the elevator and for the briefest of moments my stomach drops realizing that he may be quite practiced in this type of night.  Once inside the elevator, the feeling evaporates after he roughly slides his keycard into the slot and pushes the button for the penthouse.  He can make anything look hot as hell.  He turns and descends on me once again: I’m shoved to the side wall with strong hands pinning my wrists at eye-level against the cool brass siding.    


He whispers in my ear, “So beautiful for me.”  His mouth works its way down my neck again, while strong fingers drag up my arm and then across my chest, slowly thumbing my nipple over my button-down.  Holy god.  


I can only mumble incoherently in response, my reason and retorts cut off by the need for touch and physical connection igniting within me.  I thrust back against him, lips finding his and groan into the kiss.  I scrape the fingernails of my free hand through his soft, black hair; he responds by rolling his body against mine drawing a pleased rumble from his chest.  


We arrive at the suite, still locked together.  He breaks apart reluctantly, finds the door and nervously fumbles with the key-card.  I take a moment to level my breathing, relieved that he’s seemingly as affected as I am.  I smile behind him; I had stood in this foyer but hours ago, never actually believing that we would be back here.  I’m watching him try to calm down enough to open the door, but the red light keeps blinking like an obnoxious stop sign.  


I step up behind him, his ass flush to my shameless erection and run my hands down from his strong biceps to his wrists, slowly guiding in the card.  I can hear his breath hitch and shorten with my touch.  


The green light finally signals and the door opens into the suite.  He turns around to face me, a fiery intensity burning behind his eyes.  He grabs my hands and leads me forward into the shadowed luxury of the living area.  Once inside, he allows the door to shut behind me, cups my cheeks with his hands and brings me back toward him.  Kissing him feels so natural at this point which is unbearably exciting, as if I’m meant to be here with him.  Unlike before, this is slower somehow, like he’s savoring it.  I release a soft moan, which is swallowed when I allow him access to my mouth once again.  


He takes a step back from me and begins to shed his jacket, throwing it over the couch behind him.  His corded, built muscles are accentuated beneath the thin, soft fabric of his henley.  I respond in kind, unbuttoning my cardigan from the bottom to the middle and guide it off my shoulders, dropping it as I follow him down the hallway.  He leads me past the room where I had “interviewed” him leaving my garment behind like a second breadcrumb on the trail to the promised land.  


Derek turns to face me then slinks backward half in shadow, reaching for the hem of his shirt and drags it over his head.  I flash back to seeing him in my green-tiled bathroom, drenched in strawberry milkshake.    


“Holy Jesus - you really are like a fucking super hero.”  


He raises an eyebrow at me and pauses before the door at the end of the hall, holding onto the bottom of the dangling shirt.  He slowly swings the material toward me, like a rope, and I grasp hold of one of the arms.  Derek pulls me to him slowly until our bodies are flush together.  


I guide my hand up from the shirt which is bunched between us, lightly running the pads of my fingers over his strong six-pack over to the side and trace one of the v-lines framing the muscles across his abdomen down to a belt loop on his jeans.  My finger slowly feels along the denim until I reach the divide just above the fly, hooking two of my fingers behind the metal punch of the button inside the top-hem.  I hear a sharp intake of breath and slowly meet his heated gaze through my eyelashes as he drops the shirt on the floor.  


He meets me at eye level and gives a slow nod, eyes transfixed to mine.  I unhook the rough, circular clasp and pull down the zipper; the sound of the metal teeth clacking slowly apart from each other is amplified while he runs his hands up my arms to the knot of my skinny tie. He pulls the knot toward him, completely separating it, then smoothly unties the silken material.  I watch, completely mesmerized as he wraps the fabric around his right fist.  He reaches down behind him with his other hand and finds the doorknob, turning it slightly.  


He steps aside for me and I enter the room bathed in silvery moonlight.  It’s probably the size of Scott’s and my apartment, but I’m through with assessing the space as I’m being shoved up against the wood of the door.  “Fuck, Derek!”  I can definitely get into manhandling if it’s going to be like this.  


“Want you.”  It’s so simple and powerful.  He’s blanketing me with his body, kissing me messily with almost unbearable heat.  I shove back against him, getting enough room between us that I’m able to unbutton the top of my shirt and grab the collar behind my neck to pull it over my head.  He starts mouthing at my neck, moving down my exposed skin slowly and finally kneels in front of me, looking up at me with a sly smile for just a moment before ripping down my zipper.  With lightning speed, my pants and boxers pool at my feet.  I’m exposed in front of him.  


With a rumble in his chest, he pins my hands on either side of my hips and fucking _kisses_ the head of my dick.  His grip loosens as I bring my clenched hand up to my mouth, stifling a groan.  


“You pick now to shut yourself up?  I want to hear you, Stiles.”  Fuck - I love hearing him say my name.  He fists around my length and licks a long stripe from root to tip with a mischievous look coloring his beautiful eyes.    


I can’t help myself, I pull my hand down to cup the back of his head while he draws me into his mouth, staring at me while he opens the back of his throat, completely disarming me.  


With hollowed cheeks, he establishes a rhythm which borders on too much to handle while pumping the base with his hand while I moan obscenities above him.  “My god - your fucking mouth - Unghh!”  


He rumbles in response and takes me in even deeper, allowing me inside of him in a way that practically puts me over the edge babbling obscenities nonstop.  When he uses his other hand to cup my balls and then trails a finger lower, I feel a tightening coil in my groin and fist my hand in his hair to pull him off.  I’m not ready yet.  


“My god, is there anything you can’t do?”  I’m practically breathless.  He stands quickly to his feet and kisses me again, so needy and wet.  He just had me in his mouth; I need to get mine around him.  Right.  Now.  


I push him back toward the bed, quickly pulling off my converse and kicking out of the rest of my clothes following eagerly.  “Fuck - Want to taste you.  Lose the pants, Champ.”  


I barely recognize the assertive timbre of the voice escaping my mouth.  I’ve never been overcome with this much need for another person.  He obeys my order standing with the backs of his knees hitting the side of the mattress.  I find myself in front of him, eyes dragging over his beautiful toned muscles.  


Kneeling in between his thighs and basking in the heat of his scorching stare, I take a moment to appreciate the erect cock in front of me.  It’s long, thick, and uncircumcised, definitely the biggest I’ve ever had.  My god, he’s too perfect and I feel like I’m dreaming.    


I eagerly wrap my hand around him and unsheath the head, stroking and swirling my thumb around the tip.  “Your body is fucking unfair.” He throws his head back, breathing a heady “yes” with each pump.  Closing my mouth around him, my vision goes hazy at the sides while I’m completely tuned in to every twitch and rumble throughout his body, responding to my mouth.    


I pull off briefly and he snaps his eyes back down to meet mine.  “Come on - you can give it to me.”  This elicits a groan from above as I draw him back into my mouth.  He begins to slowly thrust inside.  Sex has never felt like this before and I never want it to stop.  


I preen as he whispers about how much he loves my mouth, how much he loves being inside it, and what he wants to do to it as I suck, meeting each of his thrusts.  His breath starts to speed up and I know that he’s getting close.  


Derek slowly releases the back of my head and brings me up to him.  He falls backward onto the bed, pulling me with him.  I end up slotted on top of him, primally rutting against his firm pelvis instinctively.  He presses his face in my neck, his apparent favorite place.  “Do you have any idea how good you smell?”  


I can only whimper in return as he nips my collar bone lightly.  I roll slightly over onto my side, finding his mouth once again and run my teeth along his bottom lip.  He reaches down between us and closing his grip over us both.  


Pulling back, I fixate onto his eyes which pierce right back into mine in return.  We’re breathing against each other’s mouths.  “I’m getting close.”  


He nods in return, speeding up his strokes.  I love feeling his dick against mine, and thrust up into his hand to feel it rubbing against me.  


He kisses me again solidly, then pulls back, commanding me to come for him.  My body embraces the order and responds in kind.  I can feel him doing the same beside me, like we’re completely locked onto the same wavelength.  We’re releasing all over his hand and our stomachs, but I can barely pay attention with the white-out that has ignited across my vision.  


He sputters next to me, trying to regain control of his lungs, while I’m muttering nonstop.  He pulls his hand off us both and wipes it on the bed next to him.  Rolling on top of me, he draws me in slowly for a deeply connected kiss with our lips moving together so romantically I just want to break down.  


His lips release mine and he rubs his face into my neck once again.  “You’re perfect.  So perfect, Stiles.”  Hearing my name spoken so reverently from this god above me almost makes me scared.  I’m hit immediately with how complicated this all is.  He’s him and I’m no one.  A clutching feeling in my chest makes me want to pull away.  


Forcing myself to smile, I slap him on the ass, inciting a tired laugh from Derek as he finds his way back to his side of the bed.  I whisper to him that I’m going to clean us up, sit up from the bed, and find the en suite off the room.  Once inside the immaculate white bathroom, I will myself to level my breathing, reminding myself that the fairy tale will be over in the morning and that I need to keep it together.    


I glance at myself in the mirror, finding a wide-eyed boy with a mark just beginning to form on his collarbone, sex mussed hair, and swollen, kiss bitten lips.  It was real.  This isn’t a dream.  I’m going to wake up tomorrow knowing that I got to experience perfection and then go back to my life in Beacon Hills.  Sighing, I grab a hand towel from next to the sink and run it under warm water to clean us both up.  I come back to bed, wiping down my abdomen and towel over his hand and stomach as well, then lie back down next to him.    


He watches me while I clean him up with a thoughtful expression, looking like he wants to say something but I lean down as I throw the towel away to press a kiss to his perfect mouth.  I nestle myself against his side, slotted with my head in his neck while he draws me into his arms.  “I’m glad you stayed.”  


The breathing next to me slows and hypnotizes me to relax into his warm touch as the light and sounds of the city fade to black.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry that I couldn't get this out any sooner - I had to pull an all-nighter at work this week.
> 
> To make it up to you, here's another two chapters.
> 
> Next Update will be on or before February 2nd!
> 
> Thank you so much for your kind words and kudos! Comments continue to be appreciated!


	9. Lights Up

I wake up slowly, undoubtedly confused about why my bed feels so comfortable.  I’m warmer than usual under the softest sheet set I have ever slept under - thread count 500 billion.  Bringing me back to consciousness quickly is the arm draped over my chest and the face pressed into my neck.  


I’m in Sacramento, not Beacon Hills.  The morning haze paints the room a soft yellow, bringing the scene’s lights up before my eyes.  I’m not sleeping alone and the person next to me is Derek Hale.  I know my heart rate picks up as the events of last night play on the clip reel of my mind.  My body betrays me by independently twitching which rouses my flawless sleep partner.  He nuzzles into my neck while his gorgeous eyes flutter open.  He looks at me dreamily before he pulls back in confusion.  


The knitted brows are back as he lets out a sigh.  My emotions immediately elevate to DEFCON 4.  I’m going to be kicked out of Derek’s bed like a used trick.  I’m frozen in fear, waiting for what his response will be.    


His hand drags over my chest up to his face, while he rubs his eyes.  “You’re here.”  His voice is gravel-y with morning.  


I can’t even bring myself to speak; I don’t want to know how this movie works out because in my mind, it’s going to be an awkward thank you, followed by a mad dash to locate all my clothes, and closing with a super depressing drive back to Beacon Hills.  


A small, private smile crosses his face.  He repeats himself.  “You’re here.”    


“Here I am.”  My voice is so small.  Maybe I don’t have to jump to catastrophic thinking?  


“What time is it?”  He stretches himself along side me, not pulling away and then rubs his face over my neck once again.  


“I think it’s still pretty early.”  I turn to look at the bedside table.  The red numbers light up 7:53am.    


He picks his head up and looks toward the digital clock as well, then looks back at me almost sheepishly.  “Wait here, I have to take care of something.”  


He groans when he rolls away from me then stands up to walk to the dresser by the window.  I’m greeted with a healthy serving of the glory of Derek Hale’s ass as he stands up.  He pulls out sweatpants and a t-shirt, finds his phone in his jeans on the floor, then exits the room with a quick smile thrown back at me.  


As soon as the door shuts, I fly up out of the bed pulling the sheet around me then start the search to find my own phone from my discarded jeans, still thankfully running with about 40% battery life.  


**Scott - 12:28am:** Dude you coming home tonight?  


**Scott - 1:02am:** Call me when you get this.  Want to know you’re not dead somewhere.  


**Scott - 1:15am:** I’m going to bed, but call me when you get this.  I need to let the Sheriff know if we should start dragging the river.  Love you, Bro.  Hope you’re getting some.  


He’s just the sweetest, isn’t he.  


**Dad - 6:32am:** Steak Saturday has arrived.  Told all to meet at the house at 4.  


**Erica - 7:48am:** Boyd will be bringing his brownies.  You’re welcome.  I expect three months hard Worship in return for my benevolence.  


Those brownies are fucking heavenly.  The barbecue is today.  It’s going to be back to Beacon Hills reality and away from whatever this was.  I press the call button to reach Scotty.  He picks up after four rings with a sleep-tinged hello.  


_“Stiles.  Not dead.  Good.”  
_

“Hey Scotty.  Sorry to wake you, but I wanted to call off the dogs.  I’m all alive and everything - coming back today for the barbecue.”  


_“Mmmm barbecue.”_  He’s still cycling through dreamland.  


“Talked to the Sheriff: starts at 4.  I’ll be home before then to pick up the groceries from our place.”  


He grumbles in response, repeating the 4pm time back to himself.  “Okay buddy.  I’ll let you get back to sleep.  Sweet dreams of all things Allison.”  


The magic word.  I hear three to four whimsical “ _Allison’s_ ” in response.  I laugh to myself as the phone hangs up.  That’s my Scott: he’s a simple creature.  


I hear the door click from behind me.  I turn to find Derek Hale gazing at me with an amused expression on his face.  “Everything alright?”  


That’s a question with a lot of layers which I can’t explore right now.  I simply nod my head.  “I should probably hop in the shower.  I have to get heading back soon.”  


I could swear that an honest to god petulant pout lines his eyes.  Shit, what do I have to lose at this point while the minutes we have together dwindle away?  “That bathroom is sick, man.  The shower is the size of my kitchen.  Wanna come?”  


He brightens instantly as I drop the sheet on the floor to stroll to the bathroom.  He follows suit and I swear, I’ve never seen someone shed clothes that fast.  I find a hotel toothbrush by the sink and work to clear out my morning breath while turning on the shower.  He comes in, grabbing his as well.  


I spit, wipe my mouth with the back of my hand and grin back at him as I open the door into the rain shower which is billowing steam over the side.  He’s joining me just seconds later, chasing me inside and laces his hands behind my back.  


I’ve never felt this domestic with anyone before, and pull his neck forward to kiss him softly.  We’re making out under a warm rainstorm which washes away all of the indecency of the night before.  He releases me to grab the soap, massaging the lather all over my body.  “You have the best hands of all the hands.”  


He sighs to himself as he playfully traces his unsoapy hand’s thumb over my bottom lip.  “There’s that mouth again.  What am I doing with you?”  


“I think we’ve firmly established that you like my mouth, Derek.”  I draw his finger into my mouth and bite it softly.  


He laughs, nodding slowly in response.  We lazily kiss while he brings his hands down to knead my ass.  I grab the shower gel and start to wash him down as well, focusing my attention on his hardness.  


He thrusts into my grasp while he drops his head down to my neck, his favorite place.  He speeds up his rhythm then jerks wildly as he comes on my hand.    


I’m rewarded by being turned around and shoved into the wall with Derek kneeling slowly onto the shower floor behind me.  “Fuck, dude.  You just love to throw me around.”  


He hums happily behind me.  “Almost as much as I love your ass.”  Then he proves it.  With his fingers and his _tongue_.  


I can’t do anything but rest my face against the marble wall of the shower while he takes me apart at the seams.  I come almost embarrassingly quickly against the cool white stone while he braces an arm around my chest, whispering in my ear how good and beautiful I am while I drop my head back onto his shoulder.  I think I could stay in here forever.  


It has to end sometime what with my fingers starting to prune.  Exiting the shower, I dry off while he towels my hair.  He looks happy.  I feel so light knowing that being with me is making him so contented.  I don’t want to leave this behind.  


I gather my clothes from around the room while he tosses me a pair of fresh boxer briefs from his clothing stores.  I smile in thanks while putting myself back together, wondering briefly about where my red cardigan went to, quickly realizing that it’s on the floor in the hallway where I left it last night.  


“What are you doing today?”  I’m almost fully dressed, pulling on my socks and converse and look up to see him in tight jeans and a white henley.  I think he’s the only person in the world who can make henleys look so good it’s rude to all the other henleys.  


“We’re having a barbecue at my dad’s house with the usual suspects.  My dad’s about ready to throw a parade through the town that I’m allowing him to have steak tonight.”  He quirks an eyebrow at me as I continue.  “He’s got high blood pressure and had a heart issue a couple years back, so generally red meat stays off the menu.”  


“What’s the occasion?”  


“I had to help this dark, handsome, quite broody stranger get his car back from impound.  It cost me steaks for my dad and all my friends.”  I smile at him as he comes up to throw his arms around my neck.  


“Hope it was worth it.”  


My hands rest on his back, drawing us back together.  I don’t want to say goodbye.  I really don’t.  “I think it was.”  


“You have to go back.”  I nod and meet his eyes.  I can see him turning over something in his mind which looks startlingly like he doesn’t want me to leave.  “I could go with you, if you want.”  


My mouth actually falls open.  “You want to come to Beacon Hills for a barbecue with my dad and my friends.”  


“If it’s alright with you.  Laura is flying back to L.A. today for her anniversary with her boyfriend, so I’m not going to be on call.  I’m not sure I want to be anywhere near there, actually.”  He snorts to himself.  “I have the suite through the weekend.  I can drive us to Beacon Hills for the day, you can come back with me tonight, and then you can drive home on Sunday when you want.”  


Logistically speaking this doesn’t make any sense for the cars, but I realize that his proposed idea has arranged it so that we have over four combined hours together in his Camaro and the promise of another night together.  I just hope he doesn’t get sick of me.  I break out into a large smile, nodding enthusiastically.  “Just have to warn you, Champ.  You’re walking into the lions’ den on this one.”  


While we assemble together the pieces of last night and get ourselves ready to leave, I can’t help thinking about their reactions when we get to the barbecue.  I’m pretty sure that Allison, Erica, and Lydia are going to collectively lose it and embarrass themselves.  Maybe not Lydia.  I’m starting to think there’s nothing in this life that could phase her.  


I walk out into the main area of the suite to find a breakfast bar set up with bagels, cream cheese, and cups of mixed fruit.  I grab an asiago cheese bagel, slather on some cream cheese, and begin happily munching.  Derek grabs two fruit cups and a couple of forks.  


“Want to get going?”  He looks at me, aviators back on giving him the air of mystery once again.  I grab my cardigan, double check I have my phone, wallet, and keys, and nod.  He slaps me on the ass out the door.  


We take the elevator down to the garage below the hotel and find ourselves in the Camaro.  I only saw it from the outside, but it’s like the most beautiful car I’ve ever seen.  I’m practically moaning running my hands along the leather and playing with all the controls.  He swats my hand away while he pulls out of the spot.  


That’s how we end up back on the 5 playing a trivia game on my phone.  


Who would have ever guessed Derek Hale has a propensity for sports and geography trivia questions?  He keeps up surprisingly well, considering that I take particular pride in my knowledge of obscure subject matter.  We’re neck and neck on points when I go on a tear through the Crusades and the specialized mating habits of opossums.  


“They have bifurcated penises, dude!  Like forked!”  


“I don’t even want to know how you know that.  I think you’re the strangest person I have ever met, and I’ve worked with Wes Anderson.”  


“Come on, I know you find it strangely charming in a way you don’t want to admit.”  He sighs in surrender and glaces at the rearview mirror.  I start with the next question, eager to get us back on track.  


I shamelessly rub the eventual win in his face inciting a particularly harsh scowl in my direction.  I’m dancing to myself in the passenger seat when he grabs my hand in his, bringing it down to rest on the center console and begins to slowly rub his thumb across my skin.  Oh you know, just holding hands with Derek Hale on the way to a dinner with my friends and my Dad, the Sheriff.  Your typical Saturday night in Beacon Hills. It’s going to be anything but.  


* * *

 

After a relatively uneventful drive, barring the stop we made to pee at a gas station at an overlook point (it was supposed to take 5 minutes, but turned into more like a 35 minute make-out/frottage session, not too shabby), we cruise into Beacon Hills around noon.  He parks in the visitor spot at my building.  I take him upstairs briefly to change my clothes from yesterday’s.  It’s strange to see him in my apartment again.  It feels like so much time has passed, when it’s been really no time at all.  


We were expecting a couple of deliveries yesterday and I haven’t even looked at our eBay account since Thursday, so he agrees to come with me to the shop.  It’s Beacon Hills, so it’s not too crowded on the street.  I see Patti in front of the diner, wiping down the windows.  She turns to look at me then realizes that I’m actually with someone.  


“Stiles!  I was wondering where you’d gone off to.  We haven’t hit our regular curly fry consumption quota this week.  Isaac said you’d left town.”  


I can tell that Derek isn’t in love with the idea of a stranger to him shouting and bringing attention our way.  I speed up the walk with him beside me and wave back apologetically at Patti.  


We don’t run into anyone else on the short voyage across the street and I’m soon letting us into the shop.  I busy myself with catching up on the small amount of receipts that we’ve collected and the online orders.  Derek busies himself by walking around the shop, picking up a comic here and there and flipping through it.  


I notice that he gets a beep from his phone here and there; the tell-tale frown accompanies any time he has to scroll through a message.  He gets a call which he takes in the back room of the shop.  I try not to overhear, but it’s a little difficult considering the size of the space.  He’s back to one word sentences and snippy responses throughout the conversation, leaving me with a particularly grateful feeling that he’s managed to open up to me so much within the last 24 hours.  


When he’s finally off the call, he comes back out looking miserable, mumbling something about an interview he has next week.  I can tell he’s pretty excited for it (not).  I circle from around the counter, realizing that we’re standing pretty much in the exact spot where we met.    


I take his hand cautiously.  “Hey - Cheer up, Charlie.  We’re going to have a fun night.  I’m almost all finished here. We can go to my apartment, get the groceries and head over to my dad’s house for some good old fashioned Stilinski barbecuing!”    


“Thanks, Stiles.”  It’s so simple, but I can tell it’s not.  He turns up the corners of his mouth and kisses me shyly.    


The afternoon ticks away while our shadows in the California sun lengthen by the time we drive up to my childhood home, groceries piled in the backseat of the Camaro.  It’s here.  It’s dinner time.  God help us all.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry that I couldn't get this out any sooner - I had to pull an all-nighter at work this week.
> 
> To make it up to you, here's another two chapters.
> 
> Next Update will be on or before February 2nd!
> 
> Thank you so much for your kind words and kudos! Comments continue to be appreciated!


	10. Barbecue & Brownies

My dad comes to the door, looking over the moon.  Steak Saturday has clearly gone to someone’s head.  He has a beer in his hand already and looks just about ready to spit it out when he spots the man next to me in the entryway.  A quick glance behind us reveals the Camaro standing proudly in the driveway.  

“You going to invite us in, Pops?”  He recovers quickly, fixing his all-business Sheriff face in place.  He swings the door open to usher us inside.

We set the groceries on the counter in the kitchen and I turn around to face him.  “Dad, this is Derek.  Derek, this is my dad, Sheriff John Stilinski.”

Derek thrusts his hand out in front of him and I think I can tell that he’s actually fairly terrified in this moment.  “Mr. Stilinski.”

“Please, Derek.  Call me Sheriff.”  He looks unnaturally pleased with himself.  “Stiles, hasn’t brought anyone home to meet me before.  If I had known, I would have put away the baby pictures lining the living room, like this one here.”

I groan, hands over my face.  I can’t tell which is giving him more glee, the fact that he’s apparently scaring Derek with his serious cop persona, or the in depth tour around the living room with every embarrassing picture of me on display.  “This one is Stiles during his first Superman phase.  He loved wearing his underwear outside of his clothes.”  I conveniently find the bathroom in this moment.

When I come out, Derek has apparently ended the tour around the first floor of the Stilinski house and finds me in the kitchen.  “You done yet?”  I meet my father’s self-satisfied smirk with narrowed eyes.

“Not remotely, son.”  Derek conveniently excuses himself into the same bathroom.  While my father turns on me.  “Okay.  Start from the top.  What is Derek Hale doing in my kitchen?”

I’m almost a little surprised that he knows who Derek is, but then I remember that Derek mentioned something about a movie from a couple of years ago with Robert Redford, my dad’s personal hero.

“Umm...remember that favor I called in on Wednesday?  It was Derek’s car.  I helped him get it back and we’ve been spending some...time together.”

“Since Wednesday?”  I nod in return.  “Well, this is certainly a surprise.  I’m not sure he’s ready for dinner with this lot, god help him.”

I distract myself by putting the remaining groceries in the fridge while my dad leaves to fire up the grill.  Derek slowly returns to the room.  “You sure about this?  I can hide you somewhere if you’re not ready for Beacon Hills’s elite to come crashing into your life.”

“I’m not great with new people.”  That’s an understatement.

“Well, at least my dad hasn’t shown you his firearms collection.  I think that means he likes you.  We can count that as a win.”

I hear another car pulling into the driveway.  Looking out the window, I can see Scott and Allison climbing out.  I laugh when Scott pauses next to the Camaro, checking it out with a thoroughly confused look on his face, not an altogether rare expression I might add, which morphs into a look of unbridled love.  Allison’s saying something to him to pull him toward the house, thrusting a small bag into his hands.  I can hear them walking up the steps and open the door inside.

“Stiles?  Your jeep looks different.”  God bless him.  I run up to Scott and Allison in the hallway, leaving Derek in the kitchen.  

As fast and as quietly as possible, I try to warn them for not only their sakes but Derek’s as well.  “Okay - I came here with someone.  He’s shy and not good with strangers, so please be nice.  Don’t freak out when you meet him.”

Allison whispers back to me, “Stiles - About time!”

With that Scott brushes past us and rounds the corner.  “Dude, Derek Hale is in your dad’s kitchen.”  Allison flies around the entryway to join him.  They all look ridiculous, stuck in place, frozen in an awkward tableau of sorts.  

“Guys, this is Derek.  Derek, this is Scott, my best bro, and Allison his girlfriend.”

Allison blinks out of her stupor first and raises her hand to shake.  “Nice to meet you, Derek.  I’m excited for your new show.”

He manages to present a small smile in return, although it looks like it’s giving him some pain.  Scott, meanwhile remains dumbfounded.

I try to change the subject, offering everyone drinks and herd them through the house into the backyard with my dad.

My dad’s working on lighting the grill.  He says that charcoal gives the meat better flavor, so he’s fussing with newspaper, kindling, and lighter fluid.  “Derek, you want to give me a hand, son?”

I nod Derek on, who goes to do caveman things with my dad.  I can hear my dad break into a deep conversation about Robert Redford about eight sentences in which demonstrates that he had more self-control than I would have thought.

Derek seems to relax slightly now that the Sheriff is talking to him like an actual person, so I ask Allison and Scott to follow me back to the house to prepare the steaks.

“Alright, spill.”  Allison has her arms folded in front of her while Scott fusses around with the food.

“He’s the Towed-Car Guy.”  A flash of understanding crosses Scott’s face from when I told the story on our Thursday game-night.  Allison looks even more confused so I recount the whole tale for her.

“You went to Sacramento yesterday to meet him?”  Scott looks lost while Allison actually looks moderately impressed.  

“Wouldn’t you?”  I quirk an eyebrow at her as she nods slowly.

“Well, that’s gotta be the craziest thing that’s ever happened here.  You guys hooking up?”  Scott’s never been the most tactful.

I can feel heat crossing my face.  “Ughhh I don’t know.”  Scott puts a supportive hand on my back while Allison breaks out into a smile.  

“Well, you could do worse.”

With that, we grab the food to come back to the backyard fire pit.  It’s grilling time.

About fifteen minutes later, Erica and Boyd enter the backyard.  She’s approaching at top speed while Boyd walks calmly behind her.  Her eyes overtake the scene, scanning over me and my dad around the grill staring back at her while Allison and Scott cuddle on one of the patio furniture’s benches across from where Derek is sitting.

“Pay up.”  Fury crosses Erica’s face as she turns back to Boyd, digging through her bra to pull out some money.

“Stiles.  You are in so much trouble right now.  She blazes past Derek who looks utterly confused and a little bit scared to boot.  “You just made me lose a $20 bet to Boyd.  I never lose.  What the hell?  I’m going to wring both your necks for not telling me this.”  Her face immediately sweetens as she turns around, sending a shiver down my spine.  “Hi, Derek.  Pleasure to meet you in the flesh.”

He nods back at her and then stands up to shake Boyd’s hand.  Apparently Boyd’s work at the station made quite an impression.

“Derek, you know Deputy Boyd.  This is his fiance, Erica.”  

Derek turns to face Erica who approaches him with her chest out because she’s well versed in the art of subtlety.  Derek remains unphased:  “Nice to finally meet you.  Boyd told me about you at the station.  He is a lucky man.”

I’ve never seen Erica melt like this.  She immediately starts smoothing her blonde curls and smiling.  She grabs Derek and brings him back to sit down, pelting him with questions to reveal the bitchiest actresses in Hollywood.

The steaks are starting to brown around the edges when the red-headed goddess, Lydia comes into the backyard, followed behind by Isaac.  She starts for a moment when she sees my guest, but recovers gracefully with an all-knowing expression on her face.

Crossing down to the firepit area, she greets Derek confidently.  “Nice to meet you.  Lydia Martin.”  She’s opting for the “I know you’re important but I’m going to act like you’re not” approach which works marvelously for her.

Isaac follows behind her, looking unphased as well.  I can’t help but think that someone probably texted them and throw Scott a questioning glance which he returns sheepishly.

I look around the pit at the whole group, Scott’s talking animatedly with Isaac about video games while Erica and Lydia go on about some new hair care product they’ve been trying, something called “Ovation Cell Therapy”.  Boyd sits still next to Erica, listening and not contributing much.  It takes a very strong man to keep up with the likes of Erica Reyes.

Lydia looks perfect in the evening sun, every bit the girl I worshiped before I realized I was more into dudes than her feminine perfection.  She throws me a wink and a hair toss in Derek’s direction, like she knows something.  She’s the most brilliant person I’ve ever met, so I guess she probably does.

Allison’s talking to Derek about his favorite books, God bless her.  He looks fairly at ease telling her about his love of Ray Bradbury novels.  No one’s given him a particularly hard time about being _who_ he is, and from some of the questions Isaac has asked him, I’m not sure if he even knows Derek is famous.

They all look good together, like this fits somehow.  From Scott's puppy-ish good looks, to Isaac's wide-eyed innocence, Boyd's dark calm, and the girls' easy beauty from blonde, to red, and brunette, Derek doesn't look out of place.  It warms me to see him looking like he could be a part of this.  Of us.

The steaks are served around the outside table with its long benches.  With everything set up, we’ve really outdone ourselves.

My dad throws an arm around my shoulders as we walk toward the table.  “Derek seems nice.”  It’s true, Derek has been holding his own through most of the evening, even throwing out some jokes at my expense.

I take my place next to him at the table as we start to dig in.  The talk quiets down with the sounds of utensils clattering on plates, with the occasional person asking another to pass them something.

My dad recounts a funny story from the station involving a house call they went on this week; the husband got locked out of the house naked when his wife came home to find him cheating on her.  Apparently the other woman got away clean and clothed before they arrived on scene.  Derek’s laughing next to me, which sends a warm feeling through my body.  I reach down and grab his hand under the table, out of view of the rest.  He squeezes mine reassuringly and throws me a sideways grin.

The time passes steadily until the places are cleared.  Boyd’s double-chocolate chip brownies make their appearance back by the now-moonlit, crackling fire pit as we hand the glassware around.  They’re so heavenly, my God.  I even let my dad have one.  When there’s one left, Isaac grabs for it, met by an angry hand slap from Erica.

“I get the brownie.  Don’t you even think about it, punk.”  I guess that’s that.  Isaac whines unhappily next to her until she decides to split it.

“So, Derek, how long are you in town for?”  Lydia smiles innocently at him. I can feel this starting to go off the rails.

“I’m heading back to Sacramento tonight then leaving for L.A. tomorrow.”  Lydia throws a look at me, which I return with a blank stare.  I’m not ready for this part of the conversation and think I’ve done a pretty good job avoiding it thus far.  I look down and break off small pieces of the brownie on my plate, popping them into my mouth slowly.

“Boyd and I have set a date for the wedding.  We’ve decided on November 11th so everyone will be off from work.  It’s on a Friday this year so we’ll have all weekend to party before we leave for the honeymoon.”  Boyd holds her hand as she pulls herself together to continue.  “I’m starting a new treatment right when we get back, so I wanted to pull up the date.”

The mood around the fire falls quickly while Derek’s eyebrows ask the question.  I nod him off, planning on telling him later.

Allison and Lydia both fly into action, excitedly advising Erica on wedding colors and asking about floral arrangements bringing the confident smile back to her face.

After a couple of minutes, my dad gets up with a groan, draining the last of his beer.  “I think it’s bedtime.  I trust you kids will clean up after yourselves?”  We all nod, feeling like 16 year olds again.  Derek actually stands to shake his hand goodbye.  “Derek, nice to meet you.  Come back and see us any time.”

He smiles at me, shakes his head, then makes his way back into the house.  I steal a look at my phone; it’s just about 9:15 and we still have to drive back to Sacramento.  I don’t want to waste any part of this night.

“Guys, Derek has to be getting back, I think we’re going to call this one quits.  If you want to stay, feel free, but make sure everything’s cleaned up.”  

Erica and Lydia get up to say goodbye, pestering Derek to come back for the wedding and advise them of all the latest Hollywood styling tips.  Allison and Scott wave from their little section, calling out how they want him to come back.  Isaac still looks confused, like he’s putting this all together for the first time, and Boyd just gives him a small nod.

In walking out together, Derek pauses in the front driveway and draws me to him in a hug.  It’s so simple, but seems like the most intimate we’ve ever been.  He murmurs into my neck, “Thank you for bringing me.”

I run my fingers through his hair and trace a circle in his muscular back.  “They’re never going to let this one go, you know.  They really were on their best behavior.”

The drive back to Sacramento feels more silent; I’m singing along to songs on his Satellite radio with his hand back in mine.

We chatter through some politics and world-view type questions, nothing too serious, when he finally cuts in and asks about Erica.

“What’s she in treatment for?”

“She has epilepsy.  The last round of meds wasn’t working so well, so I guess she’s going to start another one.  It can be a rollercoaster ride with the side effects whenever they start a new one, so I think that they want to get married before they have to deal with any further craziness.  Boyd’s a pretty stable guy and they’ve been together a long time, so I think it’ll be alright.”

He nods in understanding.  “I was in in treatment about two years ago.”  I wait for him to go on.  “When my parents died, I started partying a lot with some former co-stars of mine.  I was drinking way too much, taking drugs, but Laura got me back on track.”

“Two years ago?”

He takes a long time to answer, and I can feel how important this is, what he’s sharing with me.  “Three years ago, I was at a wrap party and had a moment of weakness.  I was feeling depressed at the time - it was around the 10 year anniversary of their deaths and I guess that’s why I started up.  I basically spiraled downward over the next couple of months.  I was coming late to set, not prepared, and was a mess.  I got pulled over coming home from a party.  I didn’t get arrested, but Laura fucking kicked my ass when she found out.”

I stroke my thumb over his hand, trying to keep calm for him.  “Laura announced in the press that I was going to rehab, she didn’t say what for exactly, and sent me to a closed facility in Chicago.  I was there for two months and got myself together.  I’ve been seeing a therapist ever since, but I had been feeling better than I had in a long time.”

“Last month, though, I was feeling a little low, so a producer friend of mine suggested that I get away to his cabin for a little bit to sort myself out before Shifters starts.  I was coming back from Montana when I drove through Beacon Hills.”

His voice has gotten so small.  It’s the most I’ve ever heard him talk at once.  “It means a lot to me that you would tell me that.”  I’m not sure I want to go this deep with him, but the trust that he’s shown me makes me reciprocate.  “I used to get panic attacks a lot after my mom died.  When they started treating my ADHD, I leveled out some.  I had a pretty serious one after my last boyfriend dumped me right before college graduation.  It took a while for me to get back on my feet after that.”

We drive in silence until I can see the city lights forming ahead, beckoning us in.  The Camaro weaves through the streets gracefully and we arrive back at the Citizen.  He pulls into the parking garage, crosses behind the car, and actually opens my door for me.  “Stiles, I’m glad that you’re here.”

He checks his phone as we walk inside and frowns.  “I have to make a call.”  He hands me a keycard.  “Meet me upstairs in five.”

I take the elevator up to the lobby, and immediately call Scott.  He picks up after two rings.

“ _Hey Stiles.  We got everything cleaned up for your Dad_.”

“Hey bro.  If you’re still with everyone, thank them for being so great tonight.  I know it was probably pretty hard to hold back from being your usual selves.”

He snorts on the other end of the line.  “ _Dude, we’re all just glad to see you moving on from The Douchebag that Must Not Be Named.  Derek seems...well, I’m not sure nice is the word.  But he really likes you, so that means he’s alright in my book_.”

I work through some of what he told me in the car.  He’s a recovering addict, famous celebrity, and we haven’t even talked about the gay thing (which doesn’t seem to be a problem when we’re alone).  I’ve spent the entire last 48 hours trying to keep myself from hoping that this could turn into something more, and I feel like I’m teetering on the edge of a precipice.  “I really like him, Scott.  I know it’s complicated, but I feel like we both want to try.”

“ _Go get your man, Stiles.  We all saw it tonight - I don’t know what you did to him, but he looks like he’s hooked_.”  An unknowingly appropriate word choice from my best bro.

“I think I’m going to ask him.”  The question goes unsaid.

“ _You should.  I won’t wait up for you_.” I can hear the knowing smile in his voice.

“Thanks Scotty.  I’ll check in with you tomorrow morning.  Night, dude.”

I end the call and head toward the side elevator, feeling anticipation welling up in my stomach.  Riding up, I flash back through the last couple of days: the initial shop visit, the collision, the kiss, our Sacramento date, our night and morning together, the barbecue.  He’s fit himself so seamlessly into my life very quickly, and I just want more of him.

I arrive at the top floor, and insert my keycard into the slot opening the door into the suite.

I’m greeted on the other side by a red-faced, frantic-looking Derek, something I haven’t seen before.  “You have to go, now.”  His voice is low, but has a hushed intensity.

I feel like I’ve just taken a punch to the gut.  “Derek, what the fu-”

“Derek, honey, who’s here?”  She emerges from the hallway into the sitting area with all the confidence in the world riding her wake.  I recognize her from somewhere, but I can’t place it.

Hazel eyes plead with me, looking so vulnerable as they dart back and forth across my face.

She walks up behind him, absolutely model-level stunning, like a 1940’s movie star.  She’s all soft brunette features and has a glint in her eye that I immediately hate.  She pulls him in, hands splayed around his waist while she fixes her stare on me.  “Can we help you?”

I finally find my footing and revert back to the same cover as before.  “I’m from Alter Ego Magazine - Derek accidentally dropped his key card when we finished our interview, just wanted to make sure that he got it back and into the suite alright.”  The words are just tumbling out of me at this point and I’m not sure if I’m putting together actual sentences.  

“You sat down with a reporter...willingly?”  She turns her attention to me when Derek is still frozen.  “I can’t imagine what you found to talk about with my boyfriend here.  Did he actually find something interesting to say?”  Her voice is sickeningly sweet, but laced with suspicion.

 _Boyfriend_.

All I want is to push the button controlling my figurative ejector seat.  “Thanks, Derek - I’ll be off.”

“Stiles…”  His voice trails off.  I take a quick glance back at him to find her draped across his back, breathing into his ear.  “So...Good surprise?”

He just stares at me, face blank.  “Good surprise.”

With that, she pulls them back and they disappear into the suite.

I punch the elevator button frantically, barely registering the ride down or the walk back to my car while fighting down the feeling that I want to just throw up everywhere.  

I sit behind the wheel while my breath sputters.   _Of course he has a girlfriend_ , you dumbass.  I helped him _cheat_ on his _girlfriend_.  It had felt so real, all of our stolen moments, but that’s all they were.  It’s a very cruel reality to be faced with; I never had him and was never going to.

The ride back to Beacon Hills is torture, willing myself to focus on the road enough to keep driving, but all I can think about is going back to a world that he’s not a part of.  I don’t belong in his, and he sure as hell can’t belong in mine.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Maybe you have to know the darkness before you can appreciate the light." - A Wrinkle in Time (Madeline L'Engle)
> 
>  
> 
> Thank you for all of your comments so far! For a first time poster, this has been a fantastic experience!
> 
> Here's the next chapter. We're having some crazy weather, so I may be able to get out another chapter before next Monday. 
> 
> As always, comments are appreciated!!


	11. Cave Dweller

After what is probably considered to be one of the worst nights of my life, I’m not ashamed to say that I think I may have gone through a bit of a tailspin.  I’ve constructed a little cave in my room, burrowing down in my comforter, and barely showering.  


No one bothers me for four days while I deactivate my Facebook and watch old episodes of Grey’s Anatomy on my laptop, which probably loses me about 14 man cards, but I don’t fucking care.  I get to the first season finale when McDreamy’s beautiful redheaded wife shows up and I just start shouting “FUCKING CHEATING CHEATER WHO CHEATS” at the little people on the display.  Meredith is the only one who understands me.  


The door to my room suddenly opens while I’m throwing this temper tantrum and I’m attacked by Scott, Isaac, and Boyd who pull me out of bed and carry me like a sack of potatoes into the bathroom.  They dump me directly into the running shower _in my clothes_ with me screaming all the while.    


Resigned to my fate under the spray, I finally feel the grime and ugliness of the dark period begin to wash away.  I need to get back to being me.  Fuck that fucker.  I allow the warm water to unknot my back and reinvigorate my body.  I can do this.  


Once I put myself back together physically and hygienically (to everyone’s extreme delight), I finally sit down with the group at the diner over a plate of curly fries and tell them all what happened.  To my shock, they weren’t surprised.  


“You didn’t know he was dating Jennifer Blake?”  Lydia just stares at me, like I’m the saddest thing she has ever seen.  I thought I had effectively grown out of receiving that type of look when I stopped adulating at her Prada heeled feet.  


She has a name.   _Jennifer Blake_.  I know that name.  “I had no idea.  I wasn’t following his career, really.”  


Lydia just shakes her head.  Scott’s giving me the sad puppy dog eyes.  “They’ve been together on and off for like ever, dude.  They made that teen road trip movie like ten years ago and have been dating ever since.”  


Ten years? They’ve been together for TEN years?  This just keeps getting worse and worse.  


Erica throws a magazine across the table at me.  It’s one of those gossip rags that lines the checkout shelves at the grocery store.  It’s a picture of them on the cover with huge words shouting “Wedding Bells!” on the cover.  


“Just because I don’t read stupid magazines.  This is officially my lowest point.  The lowest of the low.”  I groan heavily.  “Why didn’t you guys tell me?”  


They all look around uncomfortably at each other, trying to decide which one has drawn the short straw.  Of course it’s Scott: “I just figured that you didn’t care or something.  We all saw the way he was looking at you - I thought maybe Jennifer was his beard or something.”  


“He never said anything…” I just stop.  I know how dumb this is.  I can’t figure out if _He_ thought I knew.  I feel like I need another shower.  


“You have to pull yourself together, Stiles.  Go back to work and get on with your life.  You’ll be over Derek Hale soon enough.”    


I catch Allison whispering to Lydia: “I still can’t believe Derek Hale is gay.  Like, that one was at the bottom of my list.”  


“It figures.  He never seemed that into Jennifer when they would walk the red carpets together.  She has terrible fashion sense too - I mean, remember that dress she wore to the Golden Globes two years ago?”  


They’re off on a tear analyzing every bit of Derek and Jennifer’s relationship and their  public appearances; I just need to get out of there.  I throw some money on the table and grab Isaac to head back to the shop.  They are right, though.  I can’t keep wallowing forever.  He never promised me anything.  I don’t know what I was expecting.  


Back to regular life in Beacon Hills.

* * *

“Beacon Hills A.D.” ( _After Derek_ ) has been pretty okay.  I’ve put all of my energy into working at the store, buying and selling comics online, beating Scott’s ass in Madden and hanging out with the group.  Erica, Scott, and Lydia have even tried to set me up on dates with a couple of guys, but nothing has really stuck.  There was Drew, who just stared at me until I became officially creeped out, Justin who was the world’s biggest complainer about everything (and I mean everything), and Will who I actually kind of liked hanging out with, but just wasn’t attracted to.  Lydia huffed off after that one and openly proclaimed how hopeless I am which is just so sweet of her.

 

Meanwhile, the ghost of Derek is haunting me at every turn.  It seems like I can’t turn on the T.V. without seeing a commercial for _Shifters_ , and he and that woman are on the cover of every magazine from here to God-knows-where.  I feel like my blinders have been taken off and I’m just noticing everything that I had been missing before.  


His perfect scowl-y expression broods out at me from all of the ads, reminding me of the best and worst days I’ve had.  He’s absolutely inescapable.  I feel like I’ve been putting on a pretty good face with everyone.  I mean, my Dad has even stopped checking in on me to make sure I’m out of my depressive phase.  


I’m just here, late afternoon working in the shop, hanging out with Isaac when Erica comes busting through the door.  “Have you seen the news?”  


With my forced embargo on all things Derek Hale, I admittedly haven’t been on Twitter, Facebook, or paying much attention to anything worldly.  I just shake my head at her.  


“Those hackers from a couple of months ago who leaked all those photos from Hollywood stars’ phones...they just released some more.”  She looks at me, carefully, like I’m a flight risk.  


“What the fuck does that have to do with…”  Holy shit.  Something got out about Derek.  She flies up to the counter, thrusting her phone at me.  It’s an article from _Dlisted_ :  


**Juicy Celebrity Photos Leaked: Jennifer Blah-Blah and Derek Hell Edition**   


 

> _The hackers are at it again and everyone’s favorite celebrity couple’s secrets have been revealed!  We’re going to have to change her name to Jennifer Not-So-Blah-Blah from now on.  The shots from her phone show the couple doing everything, from smoking weed, snorting lines of blow, to nude selfies.  Derek Hell whose “Oh My God Do We Need Another Series About Werewolves?” show is premiering on HBO next week is shown handcuffed to her bed in some kinky shots and sleeping naked in others.  Man, Oh Man!  How lucky are we that they finally leaked something exciting for the ladies and us gays?  Way to go, Miss Not-So-Blah-Blah, keeping that man in line!  So far neither camp has released a comment.  See some photos after the jump!”_  
> 

This is the most disgusting thing I have ever seen.  I don’t even click to see the photos.  I had a problem when the first wave of hacked shots came out when it was just an idea, but knowing him now, how private he is, this is going to gut him.    


Isaac comes out of the back joining Erica at the counter.  She just looks at me pitifully while I struggle to steady my breath.  “I’m sorry, Stiles.  I thought you’d want to know.”  


I give her a weak smile in return.  I just don’t know what to say.  It’s such an invasion of privacy, so violating I can’t even believe it.  And people just throw it up all over websites like it’s entertainment.  


Isaac is reading the article while Erica is ranting about how gross men are for being so obsessed with forbidden boobs when there is so much free porn on the internet.  I’m just done.  “Isaac, you mind closing up shop for me?”  


He waves me away, while Erica fixes a knowing pitying smile on me.  Try as I might, I just can’t shake him.  


Walking back across the street and climbing the stairs to my apartment, I freeze when I reach the landing, almost toppling backward in surprise.   _He_ is sitting outside my door, incredibly small-looking and a completely shell shocked expression frozen onto his features.  


“Stiles.”  The voice is broken and so small.  


Something inside of me breaks and I just lunge for him, sitting on the floor of the hallway, taking him into my arms.    


Derek is back.  Derek is here, with me.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I felt bad leaving it on that note for another week and was able to proof another chapter!!
> 
> Here you go! 
> 
> Next one will be out for sure by Feb. 9th.
> 
> Hope you're all having a good week! Thanks for all the kudos and comments! You're sure making my week great!
> 
> Feedback and comments appreciated!


	12. Walls of Jericho

My legs are starting to cramp; I don’t know exactly how long we’ve been sitting on the wood floor in the hallway.  I’m lucky none of my neighbors have emerged, but I think it’s time to get us inside.  


The darkened, beautiful man in my arms finally looks up at me with eyes aching for comfort.  Every hurt moment of the past two months seems to melt away with the need to make this right for him.  


I stand up slowly and hold out my hands for him.  He gathers himself up and accepts my invitation to join me.  I fiddle with the lock on the door and usher him into my apartment, which thankfully looks decent.  


He looks around, clearly unsure of what to do and I realize I have to take the lead on this one.  He’s come here, looking for relief and safety, and I just feel like I have to take care of him.  He came to be with me out of all of the places in the world.    


I lead him into my bedroom, kick off my shoes, and sit down on the mattress patting the space next to me.  He shucks his shoes and comes over to plant himself next to me, posture heavy.  


I take his hand in mine and guide us until we’re lying down together, nestled down in the blankets, flashing me back to when I sought similar solitude after my Sacramento excursion.  We’re slotted together with his head just under my chin.  I can feel his warm breath tickling my chest as I wrap my arms around him.  It feels so natural to be lying together like this.  


He’s calmed down some, breathing steadily.  I wait for him to go first.  “I didn’t know where else to go.”  


Carding my fingers through his soft, black hair soothingly, I murmur back: “You’re always welcome here.”  


“The pictures are just so terrible, and there are cameras everywhere.  I couldn’t stand the way everyone was looking at me.  I just had to get away.”  


I hold him, allowing him to take the time he needs.  I don’t know why, but he just draws this out of me.  I’m normally pushy, curious, and unyielding in my pursuit of information, but it feels more important to let him share with me in his own time.  


“We’d been together so long, I just didn’t know how to break it off.  She knew I’d been pulling away for a while.”  He swallows and continues.  “The pictures were from before.  I’d been trying to tell her it’s over since…”  He drifts off.  He turns up his chin and looks up at me: “I just couldn’t remember any of the reasons that we were together.  It didn’t make sense anymore.”  


He burrows back down in my chest.  “I never meant to...everything happened so fast.  I didn’t know what to do when she came to Sacramento.  I was planning on telling you about her when we got back to the hotel because it didn’t seem like you knew.”  


“Is it over between you?”  It seems like such a petty question to ask, but after reading the little bit I did, I just want to get him away from her.  


I feel him nod against me while he laces his fingers in mine.  “She didn’t slow down after I...stopped.  She had been on location shooting a film for three months - I hadn’t even seen her.  Laura kept telling me it wasn’t good for us to be together, that it wasn’t healthy for me and my recovery, and I just didn’t...I couldn’t.  I told her after we got back to L.A; I moved out.  She didn’t take it well - said she’d been cheating on me forever, that she’d never really cared about me.”  His quaking voice trails off softly.  


I hug him more tightly, willing him to calm down and let go.  “The pictures are awful, they brought me back to how I was feeling before, and there are a million photographers stalking my new place.  I just got in my car and it felt like it steered itself here.  I swear - I’ve been clean for two years.”  His tears start to wet my shirt.  “I’ve been clean - she and I hadn’t even been together...like that for a long time.”  


“You don’t have to explain anything to me.  I just want you to be alright.  I’m glad that you got out of there.”  


He leans his head back on the pillow to bring his eyes to mine.  “Do you mind if I stay a little while?”  His voice is small, so hopeful; my heart starts beating faster.  


“Stay forever.”  


Derek relaxes against me, allowing himself to be blanketed by my embrace.  He slowly drifts off to sleep while I work this through in my mind.  He’s in an impossible position: a star carrying a show, stuck in a public relationship in which people have a vested interest, trying to stay healthy, and living his life under a brutal microscope.  It seems so genuine; he felt like he owed me an explanation, someone who he’d only spent the equivalent of two days with.  I can’t shake the sense that he needs someone right now to be there for him.    


He wants me to be that person.

* * *

I must have dozed off somewhere in there because I feel stubble scraping against my neck rousing me from my slumber.  Derek sits up next to me, rubs his fingers over his eyes and looks down at me, expression wary.    


“You look like shit.”  He smiles weakly at the playful tone of my voice.  “You should go take a shower.  Showers always help.  I’ll see if I can find your favorite pair of Scott’s sweatpants.”  I steal a glance at my phone: it’s 7:48pm.  “I’ll go get us some greasy food and ice-cream - surefire way to turn that frown upside down.”  


He sighs, resigned to my plan as I swat him out of my bed.  Scott has a date night planned with Allison, so hopefully he won’t be home for a little while.  I think the last thing Derek needs right now is more people around.  


He walks to the bathroom and starts running the shower while I dig around in Scott’s room for some clothes he can wear.  Coming back to the bathroom, I have a weird flash of déjà vu as I press the clothes into his hands.  “Want me to wash those clothes for you?”  


He raises an eyebrow at me in response.  He remembers too.  “Thanks, Stiles.”  


After hearing the tell tale sounds of clothes hitting the hallway floor, I load them into the laundry once again.  I grab my phone, wallet, and keys off the desk in my room, lace up my converse and hit the street.  


I send off a quick text to Scott:  


**Stiles - 8:02pm:** “Hope date night is a slice.

We have a guest at the apt - needs help.

When you’re free, call me and I’ll explain.

Tell Allison I say hey.”

After I press send, I realize how this will probably all look when I have to explain it to Scott.  I spent the last two months wallowing around for this guy, only to have him come crashing back into my life.  He’s here for my help; I have to keep reminding myself: I don’t know what this all means yet, but I’m alright with being a friend to him.  My phone beeps, almost on cue with another warning to watch myself before I get carried away.  


**Scott - 8:02pm:** “Staying at Allison’s.  

Be careful, bro.  Call you tomorrow.”  


I resolutely shove my phone back in to my pocket, ring the bell opening the door into the diner, and head up to the counter where Patti smiles.  “Well, you certainly look happier than I’ve seen you recently!”  Shit - I must be emitting my Derek-glow or something.  


“I’m just glad to see you.  Want to grill me up some cheeseburgers and throw in some curly fries for your favorite customer?”  


She yells for Eddie in the back and turns her attention back to me.  “You know, my niece’s husband has a brother I could set you up with.  He’s a semi-professional ice-skater.”  She waggles her eyebrows at me, like that will entice me or something.  


“I’m doing alright for now, Patti, but I’ll keep that in mind.  Anything else new?”  


She’s always glad to spread gossip and babbles on about the latest episodes of NCIS and how sexy she finds Mark Harmon.  Eddie clanks around in the back, working to complete the order.  


I pay and take the food back across the street, walking into my apartment to find Derek curled up on the couch reading my battered copy of One Flew Over The Cuckoo’s Nest.  I love that book.  


He looks up at me.  “I’ve never read this before.  I love the film.  Did you know that it’s one of only three awards to win all five big Oscars?”  


I set the food down on the coffee table and sit next to his couch fortification.  “I didn’t know that.”  I’m usually the king of inane trivia so I can’t help myself from asking, “What are the others?”  


“It Happened One Night, a Frank Capra romantic comedy with Clark Gable and Claudette Colbert from 1934 and Silence of the Lambs.  They all won Best Picture, Best Director, Best Screenplay, Best Actor, and Best Actress.”  


I remove the cartons from the packages, nodding along.  “Impressive.  I love Silence of the Lambs.  Scott and I decided to watch it from my Dad’s tape collection on VHS when we were like 12.  We couldn’t sleep for days and kept sneak attacking each other with spontaneous slurping noises.  I’ve never seen the other one.  Clark Gable - he’s the dude from Gone With the Wind, right? Frankly, I don’t give a shit and all that?”  


He scoffs and flicks the back of my head.  “Frankly my dear, I don’t give a damn.”  He pauses, “Have you ever seen It Happened One Night?”  It’s a classic.  I think you’d like it.  There’s a mouthy, spoiled heiress who would particularly resonate with you.”  


I shake my head and take a large, grinning bite of my burger in response.  He digs in as well.  When I swallow, I run into my room and grab my laptop, setting it on the floor by the T.V. and plug in the adapter for the T.V.  “Alright, let’s watch it.”  


I find the movie on Amazon Prime and we spend the evening munching on curly fries, watching Claudette and Clark go at it snarking up a storm, and laughing our asses off at the screwball comedy.  I tend to comment a lot during movies, but he doesn’t seem to mind my outbursts, laughing at me as much as the film.  I find myself flailing around on the couch during the final scene realizing just how close we’ve been sitting over the course of our film viewing as the credits start to roll and the “walls of Jericho” come tumbling down.  


He’s noticeably so much lighter than when he arrived, smiling down on me when it ends with our knees pressed against each others’.  “I can’t remember the last time I watched a black and white movie.”  


He leans back into the couch, a pensive look crossing his dark features while he looks down at his hands.  “My mom used to show me all of these films when I was growing up.  She was a big Frank Capra fan.  She loved Mr. Smith Goes To Washington.  I always wanted to make a movie that had something to say, that could affect people.”  


I smile back.  “I'm sure you'll get that chance.  And, I know she would be proud of you.  That’s what moms do.”  I clear my throat.  “How’s filming going?  Are you all done with season one?”  


He fiddles with his hands some more.  “We finished filming last week and I’m starting a new action film in mid-November, that is if they still want me.  I don’t know if some of the contracts are going to fall through after all of this.”  


I nod in return, like I have any idea about how this works.  “Well, I’m sure Laura is doing the best she can.  That’s what you have all those scary, powerful people for who take care of things like this.  What’s the new one about?”  


“Special Agent-type film.  Stopping the world from ending and all that.  I have the script with me, if you want to read it.”  


“Maybe tomorrow.  I think you’ve had enough of your work life today.  Let’s eat some ice-cream and ruin those beautiful abs of yours.”  


His ears tinge with pink but he nods and follows me into the kitchen to grab a spoon.  We sit on the couch hanging out with Ben and his friend Jerry, watching Adult Swim on Cartoon Network until the night starts to really set in.  


I clear the cartons and drop the spoons in the sink.  I hear him crossing the floor of the apartment to stand behind me in the kitchen and turn to see him much closer than I expected.  “Thanks for everything, Stiles.  I still...I don’t know how to tell you…”  


He’s got that look on his face again, the one from earlier I just want to chase away from his sad eyes.  I take him into my arms, hugging him tightly with his face pressed into my neck.  “It’s okay.  You’re okay.”  I run my fingertips through the silken hair just above his neck.  We just stand for a moment like this - together.  


He stands back and pulls away, almost shy.  He takes a deep breath before he fixes his hazel eyes on mine.  “Today has been a good day, which, under the circumstances is...unexpected.”  


I feel his energy drawing me in; he leans closer and I quickly break the spell, smiling and stepping quickly out of the kitchen.  He’s not here for that and I'm not sure I'm ready to go there again.  “So, let’s get you all set up.  I’ll take the couch tonight.  You can probably use a good night’s sleep.”  He blinks at me a couple of times and nods slowly.  


We spend the next 20 minutes getting ready for bed.  I give him the bathroom first while I make up the couch for myself.  He exits the bathroom and I run in, brushing my teeth, washing my face, and completing my nighttime routine.  


When I come out, he is sitting on the old comfy chair next to the couch, scrolling through his phone.  He looks up at me when I re-enter  “Laura’s checking in on me.”    


I cross over and flop down onto the couch, pulling up my socked feet under my blanket and sit cross legged facing him.  “Does she know that you’re here?”  The “with me” goes without saying.  


“Yes, she knows I’m here.  I told her about you after the junket.”  He looks blankly at me, not revealing what he may specifically said.  


“Well, it’s time for bed.  Or sofa bed.” I fluff the pillow behind me.  


He throws me a small smile and stands up, facing toward me.  He walks over to the couch and brings his hands to the sides of my head.  I feel a soft kiss pressed to my forehead and a whisper of “Good night, Stiles” breathed next to my ear.  


He leaves me with goosebumps all over my arms and a yearning to follow him.  


I lie back violently, throwing a pillow over my face in frustration, somehow feeling that the man in the room next to mine may be doing the same.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I always love the idea that actors are studied in their craft and history (my film geek came out a little in this chapter)
> 
> We're hitting the home stretch!
> 
> I hope to have another chapter out this week, but will have another update by Monday, February 23rd for sure.
> 
> Your support and comments have been wonderful! Feedback is always welcome and appreciated.


	13. Islands and Oceans

I’m brought out of my light slumber by the beeping of my phone alarm and I’m momentarily confused with waking up on the lumpy couch.  It’s not the best in the world, so I didn’t get the greatest night’s sleep ever, but my discomfort and soreness are shoved to the back of my mind with the memory of why I slept here.  Derek is here.  In my bedroom.  In my bed.

I bound up quickly, getting myself together, and change pace to slowly open the door to my room.  Derek doesn’t move; I can hear his deep breathing while I pad around lightly, trying to find clothes to wear for the day.

I run to the shower and work on getting myself ready.  All set and ready to go, I leave a quick note for Derek and grab a Pop Tart (brown sugar and cinnamon is the King of Pop Tart flavors) for breakfast before stepping out into the crisp October air to open the shop.  I know that he’s here and he needs my help, but I can’t keep ignoring my life for him either.

Isaac arrives at the shop a little after 8:30am with the usual coffees in hand.  I am really going to need coffee today.  He stops in his tracks when he sees me behind the counter.  He can tell something’s off with me.  “What’s up with you?”  

“Nothing!  Everything’s fine!  The most fine.  Let’s get workin’!”  My voice is too enthusiastic.  I know I’m over-excited and I realize that I’m kicking my foot against the wood paneling of the counter to expend some of my nervous energy.  The second I notice it, I stop which draws more attention.

He comes up to the counter, suspicion narrowing his eyes while he sets my coffee down in front of me.  I grab for it eagerly and he pulls it back at the last second.  I send him a look of pure venom.

“What. Is Up With You?”  He’s got me.

I heave a big sigh and nod my head, resigned to tell him what’s been happening in the life of Stiles over the past 16 hours.  He slides the coffee back over to me as I start.

“So you know the article from yesterday that Erica showed me?  Well, um, Derek may have shown up at my door last night and now he’s at my apartment sleeping in my bed all sad and stuff, and I’m giving him a place to stay while this craziness all dies down.  I mean, how ridiculous is it that he has to deal with something like this in the first place?  These phone hackers should be thrown in jail.  I have no idea what to do and I’m just…”  My need for oxygen catches up with me.  

Isaac looks down at me with a thoughtful expression coloring his chiseled, light features.  “Oh.  Okay.”

“Okay?  That’s all you’re going to say?  OKAY?”  It’s too early for this.

“Thought you might need to just get it off your chest.  I’m sure you’ll figure everything out, or just keep flailing around until the universe decides to right itself.”  He smiles smugly at me.  “Stiles, go home.  I’ve got this.”

I’ve rarely appreciated Isaac more than in this moment.  I throw him a quick bro-hug and make for the door.  Before going back to the apartment, I swing by the bakery down the street and pick up some bagels and more coffee, because I’m the hostess with the mostest.  I walk into my living room with food and drink carton in hand to find Derek sitting on the couch reading once again.

“I thought you went to work.”  He has my written note on the coffee table in front of him.

“Isaac can handle the shop today.  I thought you might be hungry; I got some bagels, cream cheese, and some coffee.  Dig in, Champ.”

He smiles at me, looking genuinely happy that I’m going to spend the day with him. A text from Scott I got this morning says he went directly to the animal hospital from Allison’s, so it seems like we’re going to be hanging out here alone for most of the day.

We lounge around: he continues to read while I pull up the shop’s Ebay account on my laptop.  I’m able to sell off a couple more semi-rare comics by mid morning and feel extra accomplished.

He takes a call from Laura in the other room at one point, and from the bits and pieces I didn’t mean to overhear, it sounds like she’s got everything under control.  He comes out and looks at me apologetically.  “She just released my statement.”

He brings over his phone, showing me the emailed statement he received.

> _“This is a violation of privacy, plain and simple.  It is a sex crime.  My thoughts are with Jennifer and the other people who have been affected by these criminals the way that I have been.  We ask the media to do what these criminals have not and respect our privacy during this time.  We have no further comment on the content of any materials released illegally without consent.  I will continue to focus on my work daily and living my life healthfully to the fullest.”_

“It’s good, Derek.  I’m sorry that you have to go through this.  It just doesn’t seem fair.”  I pass the phone back to him and he closes his grip over my hand.

“Thanks, Stiles.  Laura was planning on releasing a statement that Jennifer and I had separated this week, but that’s now indefinitely on hold.  We’ve been getting a lot of questions ever since I moved out.”  He flops down on the couch, shoulders slumped.

I search my mind frantically for something that will get him smiling again.  “You said you had that script with you.”  He perks up slightly and looks at me.  “Want me to help you practice your lines?”  
 

He nods and we spend the next half hour reading through the script, trying to work our way through the complicated CIA codes and speeches about weapons of mass destruction while sipping our morning coffee.  We’re sprawled at opposite ends of the couch, calves touching in the middle.

“We’re going in under black star cover, code 9823, routed through Q base.  Departure 600 hours, Agent Cartwright.”

“Roger that.  Awaiting your signal, Captain.”

He turns his eyes up at me.  “So, what do you think?”

He’s asking for my opinion on a script?  I huff out a laugh when I put the paper down, reaching for another bite of bagel.  “I love suspense films as much as the next millennial boy, but I didn’t realize how much nonsense the language is.  I mean, it’s not Aaron Sorkin, but you’ll probably look really hot in the uniforms.”

I gulp as he assesses me thoughtfully.  “You think I’d look hot in uniform?”

I roll my eyes, eager to break the tension and kick him in the leg.  “Shut up - you know you’re like Adonis’s darker, broody, just-as-hot brother.”

He laughs softly, throwing a discarded pillow at my head.  Amazingly, I catch it and smack him in the face, holding onto the bottom end of the pillow.  He grabs it back while I’m still attached to it, pulling my body on top of his.  A playful smile lightens his face and his eyes fill with heat.  I’ve seen this look before.  I release the pillow instantly which he drops on the floor next to the couch, eyes transfixed to mine.  I’m slotted against his body, lined up with his gorgeous face.  He brings a warm hand to my cheek, lightly pulling my lips down to meet his.

My mind completely blanks when I shut my eyes at the second that the kiss connects.  My body is moving on its own, a slow-building fire pooling at the base of my spine, while his strong hands run down my arms and up my side.  I shift slightly, rolling in between the back of the couch and his firm body, nestled into his warmth.  It feels so good, so right to feel him rolling slowly against me, legs tangled together.

Time seems to slow while we kiss.  It’s unhurried, like he’s going to stay forever which tugs at the back of my mind.  I rake my fingers through his hair and down the back of his neck, eliciting a breathy moan from Derek.  He moves down and starts to work on my neck and collarbone, kissing and licking the skin, while nuzzling me as much as possible.  I feel a sharp prick as he bites a small mark right below my chin, causing me to buck up suddenly in surprise.  He huffs a laugh against me, pulling back and gazing down at me once again.

My mind clicks back on at the sudden loss of contact, but unfortunately not my filter.  “What do you want with me?”  I freeze instantly, silently cursing my mouth for running ahead of my sense.  I’ve been so good at not asking the questions that would require any sort of discussion about anything that has happened between us.  I’ve been protecting myself from hearing what he truly thinks of me or hearing false promises that he doesn’t mean.

I focus in on Derek’s expression, his eyebrows drawn together but stare not leaving mine.  “I honestly don’t know.”

My heart drops.  I just wish that he would say something.  I hate limbo, hate not knowing things, living in the grey spaces.  I clear my throat and start to work to sit up, having been swallowed into the couch’s crevice.  

“Stiles…”  I turn back to look at him, his eyes guarded while he proceeds.  “When you left Sacramento, I never pictured that I would see you again.  I mean, how do you ask someone to understand the situation I’m in?”

He clenches his eyes shut and shakes his head.  “I’d been with Jennifer on and off for ten years.  When I had tried to have anything normal or new with someone who wasn’t...who didn’t have the same kind of life, it’s just been so complicated.  I always felt like it was the fantasy they were after, but didn’t really see me.  They could only see my face with someone else’s writing attached…”

I reach down and thread my fingers through his, so grateful that he’s trying to articulate whatever this is.  He breathes deeply, playing with my fingers while he continues.  “It just seemed easier to stay with what felt routine, what had always been.”  He looks down, clearly uncomfortable with what he’s planning to say next.

“Take your time.”  He looks back up at me with the corners of his mouth pulling up slightly to meet my reassuring smile.

“I’ve never really even been with....with a guy before.”  My memory flashes back to that confession by my car in Sacramento.  “I’ve been attracted, but I’d never done...done anything about it.”  He lowers his voice slightly, taking that breathy, gravelly tone I could listen to forever.  “And you...you’re so...one second you’re bowling me over, you talk so damn much I feel like my head is spinning, and you have these moles…”

At that, I just lose it, laughing and turning my face into the couch pillow.  “My _moles_?”  I feel him starting to pull away, and I grab him back, throwing my arms around him and draw him back in to me.  “No!  No...sorry!  I was just...surprised!  Come back here!”  I press a deep, smiling kiss to his soft lips.

I draw back slowly, watching his eyes to make sure I’m forgiven for laughing.  Evidently I am; the bright glow of his green gaze has returned.  “I’m happy I ended up here.  With you.”

I’m sure I blush brightly, but he silences any response by pulling me back down into him, continuing to just live in each other’s space for the rest of the early afternoon.  

* * *

I hear the apartment door creak open, and rub my face against the toned body next to me as I pick my head up to see Scott walking through the door with Allison training behind him.  It’s almost comical to see their faces register our positions on the couch, taking in the whole scene complete with Derek Hale napping in our apartment.

He stirs next to me and looks blankly toward the door with Scott and Allison’s arrival.  “Heeeeeeey guys.”  Scott’s face turns from confusion into a smugness that doesn’t seem entirely appropriate on his innocent puppy-looking features.

“Guys, You remember Derek.”  I’m struggling to keep from laughing, but I’m losing the battle quickly.  

“Nice to see you again, Derek.”  Leave it to Allison to be proper.  

I sit up, consciously moving away from him on the couch, fidgeting and mussing up my sleep/make-out messy hair to get myself back to semi-normal.  Scott and Allison move toward the grey love seat, and I realize quickly that we’re now entering the hang out session portion of the night.

Scott starts right in.  “So...Derek, how’s it going, having a good week?.”  Allison promptly elbows him in the ribs and he makes an indignant noise while I watch Derek try to process it.

Those eyebrows furrow.  “Umm...it’s going alright, I guess.  It’s been nice to...be here, so thanks for letting me stay.”

I’ve almost sure I’ve never been a part of something this awkward.  The silence hangs over the room, fraught with nervous energy.

I’m turning over in my mind what could possibly make this better for everyone when Allison breaks the ice first (god bless her).  “Derek, did you end up getting to read the Anthony Doerr book I suggested?

A look of relief crosses his features.  “I love World War II era fiction.  It was fantastic - thanks for suggesting it.”  Allison throws him a smile while he continues.  “My mom used to read 20,000 Leagues Under The Sea when I was younger - it was my favorite book for years; it was nice that Marie-Laure loved it too.”

My hand moves on its own accord, I swear.  I find myself holding hands with Derek in front of Allison and Scott who raises a conspicuous eyebrow.  Smooth, bro, oh so smooth.  My heart starts to speed up, but Derek doesn’t pull away, so I settle back into the conversation.

“So, Scotty, how’re the animals?”  Taking my cue, he’s off on a tear about a box turtle and a pregnant rabbit which I balance with some well-timed Aesop Fable jokes, earning a swat to the back of the head from Derek.  This conveniently leaves his arm behind me.  If I shifted a little closer, I can’t really be blamed, right?

Scott takes the lead and guides us all through some classic stories, ones that never fail to make everyone laugh, particularly about the time he was called in to handle a rogue potbellied pig that had escaped and was roaming Oak Street, dodging all attempts to be captured and helped.  It’s just nice how normal this feels; Derek is laughing along, looking totally at ease while I’m feeling warm pulled into his side.  I want this - more of this.

Coming down off of a side splitting laugh, Allison reminds Scott of the pizza that they were going to order and invites us to be a part of their evening.  After pizza is delivered and devoured, we crack out the whiskey and play Cards Against Humanity for the better part of the night.  I’ve got a pretty good buzz going when Allison drops a black card reading “Incest” for the white “______. High Five, Bro!” prompt and we’re all obliterated, laughing so hard that we’re crying.

Allison clumsily sets her cup on the floor, leaning into Scott, whispering that she thinks that she’s done.  He gazes back at her, smoothing her hair away from her face and tucking it behind her ear.  It’s become so normal to me, watching them be together, but suddenly I’m reminded how happy they make each other and how much I've wanted something like that.  He gathers her up into his arms and they make their way to his bedroom, mumbling “Goodnights” to me and Derek, leaving us alone in the living room.

I turn back around to face him, and announce that I’m going to run to the bathroom.  I find a nice sanctuary in there and take my time in brushing my teeth and splashing some cool water on my face.  I gaze up at my reflection in the mirror, trying to see what Derek sees and smile back to earlier as I look at the moles dotting my cheek.

Opening the door, I find Derek taking the cups and plates to the sink, helping to clean up my apartment.  He sets the glassware down and turns to face me in the small opening.  I know I’m gazing up at him through my lashes, noticing the soft glow the whiskey has helped frame around my vision.  He looks perfect, with strong lines framing his chest and torso, pointing upward to his million dollar face.  “Thanks for helping clean up.  You didn’t have to do that.”

“I wanted to help.  It feels good to be here...I like this place.”  He smiles back at me, features open.  It feels like when he says that, he’s really saying he likes being here because he’s with me.

“Bathroom’s yours if you want it.”  I step aside in invitation, allowing him to cross, while I stand in the middle of the living room lost as to what’s next.  I straighten up some pillows and put away the game box in the cabinet under the T.V.  It’s about as clean as it ever is with two guys in their early twenties living here.

I hear the sink turn off and the door open; I spin around to see Derek walking toward me from the bathroom.  I’m an island in the middle of the room, waiting for him to come rescue me, taking me away from the marooned feeling settling around my head.

I hold my hand out to him, smiling reassuringly, having subconsciously made my choice.  He takes it firmly, confidently, while I lead him to my bedroom, shutting the living room lights off behind us and cocooning us further into our own little world for the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "The sea is everything. It covers seven tenths of the terrestrial globe. Its breath is pure and healthy. It is an immense desert, where man is never lonely, for he feels life stirring on all sides. The sea is only the embodiment of a supernatural and wonderful existence. It is nothing but love and emotion; it is the Living Infinite. ” 
> 
> ― Jules Verne, Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea
> 
> The book that Allison suggested to Derek was "All the Light We Cannot See" by Anthony Doerr. It's fantastic. Highly recommended reading.
> 
> Just got this in under the wire - haven't had the most time to revise due to my real-person job. I hope to have another chapter out in the middle of this week, but won't be later than Feb. 23rd.
> 
> Suggestions/Comments are always appreciated and I thank everyone who has taken the time to do so thus far!
> 
> Next chapter's got some really good stuff in in of the smutty variety, so I'll try not to make you all wait that long.
> 
> Happy Presidents' Day my fellow American readers!


	14. Rhythms and Ripples

The door clicks softly behind me and I turn around to face Derek.  He’s standing in the middle of the room, bathed in the soft glow of the moonlight and looking at me with an open, contented expression with a dark heat radiating from his beautiful, green-flecked eyes.  We had a great day together, so easy in the way that it flowed.  He settled in with Scott and Allison, making himself seem like he belongs here with me.  He takes a step toward me, lightly cups my face in his hands, and presses a kiss to my lips, soft but sure.  


“This is real, isn’t it?” The question takes me aback for a moment.    


Searching his eyes, I find my answer and smile back warmly, resting my forehead against his.  “For me it is.”  


I can feel the alcohol still buzzing around my head, but it’s become much quieter.  I feel like I’m seeing everything with such clarity and this moment is clicking together the way that it should.  


He leans in to kiss me again, this time with more need and intention behind it.  My arms fly up around his frame instantly, almost practiced but still unbelievably new and exciting.  


He is so steady, planted in the center of the room, invading my mouth and every part of my senses while I feel like I can do nothing but respond.  I’ve loved this all the times that we’ve shared together; Derek makes me feel so wanted, so needed.  


A small, soft groan escapes his lips while my fingers dip down to cup his godly ass.  I smile against his mouth as he finds purchase in mine with his soft, hot tongue.  I love the feel of his hands, so strong, running along my sides and pulling me closer into him.  When he draws them back up, he finds the hem of my shirt along with it, pulling it over my head.  He traces my chest with his fingers, dropping his mouth to my neck, breathing in deeply then licking and nipping along my pulse.  He works his way up to just under my ear and I shudder feeling his warm breath ghosting over my skin.  “I want this.  Want you.”  


“Want you too.”  It’s all I can murmur and with my confirmation, I am engulfed by his energy once again.  The rest of our clothes find their way to the floor until we’re standing in our underwear together.  I think back to the last time, body seeming so inadequate in his presence, but the way that he’s looking at me makes me feel like I could be enough as just myself.  


“You are, you know.”  I draw back, furrowing my brow in confusion.  “Enough.”  


“I said that out loud?”  Holy shit, my stomach drops to the floor.  


He laughs lightly, “You’re surprised when your mouth acts on its own?”  He kisses my nose as I can feel my face coloring.  


“Laugh it up, asshole.  Someone has to do the talking around here.  We can’t all be the king of Brood-istan”  His lips find mine again, smiling while his fingers dip down the back of my boxers bringing me back into the moment.  


I surge forward, tongue dancing with his as his thumbs pull on my waistband.  I feel the light fabric rippling slowly downward until my boxers pool at my feet.  He pushes me back onto my bed, comforter pillowing around my sides.  He shucks his tight boxer briefs as well, and then he’s on me immediately, kissing and licking across my chest, starting a full-on foreplay assault.  My breathing catches at the feeling of teeth and wet heat around my nipples while a steady hand encircles my length.  He runs a thumb over the slit, causing me to push back against him, back arching off the mattress in response.  


“Derek...fuck.  Holy god, nghhh” words failing me completely as they transform into a low groan of pleasure.  


He grins up at me, clearly satisfied with my sentience to what he’s giving.  He continues down my abdomen, meeting his hand around my dick with his mouth.  Swirling his tongue around the head, I fist my hands in my hair while turning my head and starting to bury my face in my pillow.  “Just like that.”  


I’m pretty sure I’ve never been this hard, cock standing fully erect against my pelvis as he slowly licks up the bottom length and inches over the tip, swallowing me down inch by inch.  I’m enveloped in a white, hot heat, drawing a series of curses and moans from my mouth as I hit the back of his fucking throat.  This sex god among mortals has taken me in completely then draws back, sucking hard and deep.  His hand dips down, cupping my balls, while I slowly thrust back against him.  The world starts expanding and contracting around my need for quick, heady breaths a small “yes” accompanies each exhaled release.  


I can feel myself getting close, and I bring my hand down, cupping the back of his head and feel a low vibrating wave through my fingers from an honest-to-fucking-god purr radiating up through his throat.    


I look down, seeing that he’s fisting his own length, needy eyes glancing up at mine as he continues to work toward bringing me to the edge.  “Derek...I’m gonna...nghhh.”  


He doubles down, almost latching on while he hollows his cheeks and speeds up his motions up and down my cock.  My hand knots in his hair, holding on while he takes complete control, disarming me completely and swallowing as I’m coming down his throat, a small dribble of my release peeking at the corner of his mouth making him look like the stuff of every fantasy I’ve ever had.  


I barely have time to catch my breath, mumbling something unintelligible about how this can’t be real life, when his warm body settles completely on top of mine, kissing me deeply as I can taste myself in his mouth which incites a needy moan from my chest.  I feel completely debauched, a so-wrong-it’s right thought prickling at the back of my mind.  I’m amazed I even have conscious thoughts when my world has been reduced to needy instinct.  


After a few moments of this dirty kiss, tongues and teeth clash against each other, warring for who needs it more; I feel my second wind gaining speed.  My hands push against his shoulders, flipping him over onto his back while I climb on top, straddling him with my knees on both sides of his hips.  His hands fly to my ass, one kneading a cheek while the other’s forefinger draws down to trace my hole.  I push back against him, bringing the tip of his dry finger just inside making clear where I’m thinking this night is going to go.  


He begins whispering his wants and promises against my lips, while his finger speeds its pattern around my rim.  “Want to be inside you, Stiles.”  A full shudder rips through my body at the sound of my name spoken so reverently.  “Gonna make it so good, you won’t forget the feeling of me.  Never wanted something like this.  Gonna take care of you.”  


“Want it too, so much.”  I kiss him hard, reluctantly climbing off him and crawling to my bedside table to find a half-used bottle of lube and rip a condom off its foil line, that sound so satisfying in its promise of the next part to come.  


I almost clumsily come back up to join him, watching him carefully for my next cue.  He sits up on his elbows, eyes dragging over my frame.  A sneaky smile flits across his features sending a thrill up my spine.  “Open yourself up for me.  Want to watch you.”  


I quirk an eyebrow at him but feel myself getting into this with more thrill than I would have thought.   I turn around, planting my knees spread on the bed while squirting a generous amount of lube onto my fingers and begin rubbing them together.  I dip them behind myself, feeling that familiar burn chased by pleasure as I work two fingers inside.  I hear his breath speed up behind me, making me smile inwardly as I feel like I’m in complete control.  “Do you have any idea what you look like right now?”  


With a surge of confidence at his encouragement, I pump my fingers inside, scissoring inside of myself with a practiced technique and trace a third finger around before pushing it in to accompany the others, willing myself to relax against the stretch.  The blankets rustle behind me, and a light touch of fingers connects with the backs of my knees, dragging up slowly until he’s drawing small circles on my ass.  I can feel myself settling back into his touch, feeling open and ready to draw him in.  


I look behind me, seeing him transfixed on my finger movements and catch his attention as his eyes flick to mine.  “Want you.”  


He rips open the condom and slowly rolls it over himself.  I swear, my heart is beating so fast with the anticipation of feeling full of him, it’s sounding in my ears.  He takes the lube and pours it into his palm, working it along his latexed dick.  He rubs the residual between his fingers, then presses them to my entrance, circling the relaxed rim.  I’m up on my elbows, back arched presenting to him as he lines up behind me.  


I almost had forgotten how this feels, the press of his dick as it inches inside, so warm and hard and right.  “Oh my god.  Feel so good, so tight...oh fuck!”  He’s coming apart while I’m feeling the pain and pleasure looping together drawing me into a downward spiral of primal need.  


I hear him heavily exhale when he’s fully seated while my body adjusts to him.  He begins to lightly thrust when I murmur my command for him to start moving, rocking against me as our bodies begin to work together.  


It’s not too long before we find a rhythm with him driving out further and then pushing deeper with each pump of his hips.  His strong hands dig into my hips, anchoring me in the moment while he moans about how good, how right we are together.  I start to push back against him, begging for him to fill me as much as possible; he responds in kind, upping the ante and striking that spot I’ve been willing him to find.  “Right there.  Right there, Derek!”  A shock of lightning flashes through my system and I yell for him to continue.  


He endures the faster rhythm, his cock reaching my prostate each time while I can’t help but reach down and start to fist around my own dick to work through the pleasure.  He grunts my name out, hips sputtering as he pulls out completely and slams forward, igniting a shock wave which ripples through my system.  My elbows give out, leaving me lying on the bedspread, face in the comforter which swallows my moans.  


We’re edging toward the cliff, but I can’t be done yet and his eyes tell me that he wants more when I twist around to find his gaze.  He slowly draws back, and I whimper at the loss, but it drives me to work for more.  I force myself to sit up and turn to face him.  “Want to ride you.”  


His eyes dart between mine, willing me to come closer while he wraps his arms tightly around me and kisses me again.  He sits back against the headboard of the bed, pillows framing his sides while I climb into his lap.  


I can’t remember feeling so powerful before, watching him below me, eyes dragging over my frame in apparent wonder.  I’m feeling almost invincible, like nothing I do could be wrong in this moment so long as we’re together.  I press another kiss to his lips, almost sweet in its genesis and then open for him, feeling his tongue lick around my own.  I sit up onto my knees and find the lube next to me where he had left it, opening it up to pour a bit more onto my hand.  I reach behind me, working it onto his length again before lining him up and slowly sit back, loving taking him inside me.  


It’s amazing to watch his face as we slot back together, pupils blown and mouth slack until a look of complete pleasure flashes between his eyes.  When he’s fully inside, I grind down slowly, taking every inch I can of his perfect dick and breath against his open mouth.  We lock hands in front of me and I work myself on his length, speeding up my thrusts, and telling him all the while how good he feels inside of me.  


He breaks one his hands away to close his it around my neglected cock and starts to pump in time.  I drop my head to his neck while a growl rumbles through his chest.  “Getting close.”  


I can only nod against him in response, feeling him jack me faster as we speed toward the edge.  I feel a tight contraction pool in my stomach and my breath starts to become more frantic.  “Derek, gonna come.  Gonna come.”  


“Come for me, Stiles.”  Electricity speeds through every nerve of my body as my mind explodes with my orgasm.  I’m coming between us as he grunts and fills the condom inside of me.  I arch my back as he pulls my release out of me as he works my length, and I can’t help but shudder as each ripple of pleasure wracks my senses.  I can feel him starting to relax under me, hips thrusting up lightly as he works himself through it.  


As I come down from this extreme high, I collapse, hand gripping the headboard and face pressing into his neck.  “I think you did it.  I think you killed me with sex.”    


He swallows and catches his breath, letting out a short laugh.  “Hope not.”  He brings his hands up to my face, pulling me in front of him to meet his eyes and gazes directly back.  “Because I’ve never felt more alive.”  


His words almost set me off again.  I’ve never had someone respond to me this way, never had someone who so openly expresses his joy in feeling open and good with me.  I can feel an influx of emotion welling up in my chest which I fight back from manifesting as words that say too much too soon.  I instead look down, gazing over his come drenched abs and drag a finger through the mess.  I start to bring it up to my mouth when he grabs my wrist and pulls it to his lips instead.  “Taste so good.”  Ughh, he’s so good he should be illegal.  


I whimper a bit as I pull reluctantly off of his softening cock, grabbing for the tissue box on my bedside table and grab a handful to wipe off his stomach.  He rolls off the condom, tying it off and throwing it into the garbage can under my desk.  I ruffle his hair: “Two points, champ.”  


He chuckles again, pulling me back into his arms and I throw back the covers and settling inside.  I’m going to have to wash this bedding tomorrow, but for right now I don’t fucking care; this has been so worth it.  I just want to lie here with this perfect man who makes me feel wanted and beautiful and right, spending the night in his strong, protective arms.  


I settle into his chest as we lie together.  The loose contentment is starting to bring the edges of my vision to a haze and I can feel it pulling me deeper toward sleep.  I’m drifting off when I hear his voice, small and soft.  “Stiles?”  


“Hmm?”  I tilt my head up to look at his face, backlit in the moonlight streaming in through the window.  


“I don’t want to go back.”  He looks down at me, teeth worrying his bottom lip.  


I lace my hand in his, and sigh.  “I’m going to be so fucking pissed at you if you ruin our afterglow, dickface.”  His gaze turns surprised, then he barks a laugh.  I can feel him relax against me again.  I yawn against his chest: “That’s tomorrow.  We’re here, let’s enjoy tonight.  This perfect night.”  


“Perfect.”  He echoes my sentiment and pulls me in closer.  I start to lose myself in the warmth radiating between our bodies.  Our breathing lengthens and stretches as we drift off together, wrapped up and completely sated heading toward a deep restful sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My deepest and sincerest apologies for my lateness! My real life job blew up and I barely had a second to sleep, let alone revise and post this chapter.
> 
> I hope that you enjoy this next part and that it was kind of worth the wait. Next chapter will be out as soon as possible but no later than this coming Monday!
> 
> Your feedback has been fantastic! Comments continue to be greatly appreciated.


	15. Sunday Song

 

I’ve never been more grateful to wake up to Sunday morning’s glow.  After a quick breakfast of eggs and toast (Derek’s displeasure with the lack of fruit in our apartment is made clear by the V etched in his eyebrows after taking stock of our cupboard), he declares that we need to go jogging.  I haven’t jogged in a while, taking longer than necessary to locate my old running shoes which have been severely neglected.  He laughs at me as we begin, promising that he’ll go slow.

We jog through the Beacon Hills preserve, taking in the sights and sounds of the late morning, the warm, yellow rays of the sun beating through the tree branches and leaves, casting woven shadows across the forest floor, and the pounding of our feet, which accompanies the colorful sounds of the trees rustling and birds chirping.  We traverse lightly along a trail running by the creek, talking about shared likes and dislikes as our breaths start to quicken from the effort.  

It feels good to take in the morning with him and feel the air move through my lungs.  I know that I’m going to be a bit sore tomorrow, but it’s nice to share this with someone.  We eventually jog back to my jeep, taking a moment to stretch against it.  “You should run more.  You’re built for it.”

I grin back playfully, “Have you been looking at my build, Derek Hale?”

He huffs a laugh and musses a quick hand through my tousled hair.  “Shut up.”  He brings his hand over my face and lightly shoves me back, eyes bright.  I can’t help but get swept away by this beautiful man when he’s like this, all playful and open.  He steals a quick kiss off my lips and rounds the jeep to the other side, sliding into the passenger’s seat.

“So, what’s next on the docket for today?”  I steal a glance at Derek while he takes a moment to think through our day.

“Well, I think we should probably shower...and burn your shoes.”  I snort a laugh in response.  He’s not wrong; the shoes are gross and old.  He keeps piling on:  “They are honestly disgusting and you need to get new ones.  They’re not good on your knees.”  

“Christ - I get it!  Thank you, Derek.  If this whole “acting” thing doesn’t work out for you, you can always go be the fitness trainer from hell, preaching the benefits of vitamin packs and protein powder.”  He rolls his eyes; I don’t even see him roll them, but I can just tell.  “I guess I can’t knock it too much, I mean, you are a magnificent example of the male form.  You should develop a line of products or something.  I mean, I think Mark Wahlberg did.  There’s potential here, Champ.”

The corners of his lips pull up slightly.  This banter is our bread and butter.  We throw little quips at each other through the drive home and the shared shower, because duh, I’m taking what I can get.  I fend off some texts from Lydia and Isaac demanding status updates while we get suited up to cross the street and have lunch at the diner.

It’s nice to be outside with him, walking along and enjoying the anonymity that Beacon Hills provides.  I’m reminded of our first date in Sacramento (I guess that’s what it qualifies as, although it was unsaid at the time), discovering how we fit together, opening up slowly and carefully while enjoying the outdoors.

When we arrive at the diner, Patti welcomes us with a wide, genuine smile from behind the counter.  “Stiles-y!  And a new friend!  Hello, darlin’!  You’re always welcome here!”

Derek shuffles awkwardly back and forth on his feet, clearly unused to this type of unquestioning friendliness and enthusiasm.  After the briefest of moments, he smiles graciously in return and thanks her.  We enter in our orders, a cheeseburger and curly fries for me, while Derek orders a deli sandwich and side salad.  I herd him toward a booth near the window and we sit across from each other.

Here, out in public, the rhythm we had found so easily this morning becomes a bit more disjointed.  I can tell that we’re working toward something, but we’ve both been resistant to getting there.  He stares out the window while I play with the lock button my phone, rambling about nothing in particular.  I’m circling toward it faster than I think.  “Derek.”  His eyes snap to me.  “What’s next?”

His brow furrows, breath coming a bit faster now.  “I honestly don’t know.”

I’m glad that he’s not playing dumb, acting like he doesn’t know what conversation we’re now having.  I hadn’t wanted to go there, but now the metaphorical dam has broken, so I’m all in.  “How is everything going with the statement?  Have you heard from Laura?”

“I actually haven’t, and I’ve been staying off social media.  I couldn’t tell you.”  He pauses a moment, seeing Patti walk over to the table with our food.

“Here you are, boys.”  She sets down our plates accompanied by her cheery, sing-song voice.  She leans closer to Derek for a second while she sets the plate down but nods toward me: “Careful with this one - very hot.”  She flashes her eyes to mine, grinning all the while.

She bustles away from the table leaving a flushed and embarrassed Derek Hale behind her which really is a sight to behold.

Derek grunts, trying to find his footing.  “I’m starting to think there’s something in the water here.”

I reach across the table with outstretched hands.  “One of us...One of us...One of us!”

He swats my arms away, laughing.  “I’ll have what he’s having.”

“Could you imagine what would happen if Hollywood got wind of the true story?”  He narrows his eyes at me for a second.  “Derek Hale is actually a closet...geek!  The uproar!”  He laughs more loudly, brightening the mostly empty diner with its contented sound.  “Posters will be ripped from walls!  Teen girls in the streets with angry t-shirts!  The betrayal!  The deception!”  I hold my phone out to him like a recording device.  “Derek, tell us.  America wants to know:  were you born a geek or did you decide to become one?”  He’s doubled over laughing at this point, head bowed toward his sandwich plate while I take a moment to shove a handful of curly fries in my mouth and grin triumphantly.

He’s still laughing as the door to the diner opens, bell dinging to signal a new entry.  I look toward the door automatically and see a familiar, beautiful face scanning the tables.  Laura Hale.  Holy shit.

I try to get his attention, but he’s still coming down hard from his giggle fit.  I finally kick his leg and nod toward his sister who is approaching our table at top speed.  He makes a choking sound while Laura gives us her opening line.  “What have you done to him?”

She’s talking to me.  “Uhh...nice to see you again, Laura.”

She crosses her arms.  The resemblance between the siblings is striking.  “No.  He was laughing.  I demand to know what you have done to my brother.”

Derek’s eyes have never been rounder, fixed on Laura, like a little kid in trouble.  I clear my throat to answer:  “It’s one of my many talents: curing the humorless.  I also have the enviable ability to pour a beer without foam.  I’m basically a superhero.”  She quirks an eyebrow at me making that family resemblance even more pronounced.  “Maybe you remember me? Stiles?”  She gives a small, amused smile as I gesture to myself and then scoot over, allowing her to sit down in the booth next to me.  “How did you know where to find us?

It’s only when she moves that I get the full vision: dressed in designer clothes with heels that should be considered weapons.  I don’t even want to think about what would happen if Laura and Lydia’s paths crossed.  She sits down next to me, still fixed on her brother who is the picture of tense on his side of the table.  “I found your address and spoke with your roommate.  He suggested that I might find you here.”  Ever-helpful Scott.

“Hi Derek.”  Laura’s face softens slightly as she turns her attention away from me and gives him a once over.  I now regret being trapped against the window.  I’m not sure if I want to be around for whatever this is going to be.  Derek just stares back in response.  “How are you doing, baby brother?”

He glances down at his hands, almost petulant.  “Fine.”

“I’m great, by the way.  Thanks for asking.”  Derek says nothing in response.  It’s shocking to watch this exchange now that Derek has completely shut down.  It’s now I’m appreciating how different he’s been here, how different he is in Beacon Hills, with me.  

I shift in my seat uncomfortably and speak to him, my voice low.  “Derek, do you want me to go wait somewhere?  I can go to the shop if you want to talk to Laura alone.  I have a couple things I can do before Isaac and I open for the week tomorrow.”

He glances up and meets my gaze with his beautiful eyes.  He nods minutely before looking back down.  Laura stands up to let me out of the booth and waves me off.  I walk up to the counter to check in with Patti before leaving.

“Hey Patti.  Can I settle the bill?”  She smiles warmly at me, plunking the totals into the register.  I slide some bills out of my wallet across the counter at her and tell her to keep the extra.

“You sure can pick ‘em, Stiles.  Tall, dark, and handsome.  I just hope he deserves you.”

I feel my face coloring.  “Thanks, Patti.  Can you give them some space?”

She nods back at me and with that I turn to leave for the shop.  I pause briefly at the door to look over Laura and Derek one final time before leaving.  They are speaking quietly to each other and look alright for now.

I exit the diner and turn the corner, closing the short distance to my shop.  As I open the door, the thoughts begin to circle around in my head, picking up speed as I walk inside.  I feel restless and realize that I’m experiencing a shift of my own.  Derek has let me take the lead over the last couple of days, and I’ve been doing everything in my power to help him forget about the world outside Beacon Hills.  I take my place on the stool behind the glass counter while my thoughts continue to swirl.

He has contracts and obligations.  He has people counting on him for their own livelihood, like the other actors, and the writers, and the crew of Shifters.  Is he happy?  What about what Derek wants?

My mind continues stumbling along while I work on autopilot around the shop, cleaning, organizing, and balancing the books.  I’m getting more stressed out by the second and my fingers seem to act on their own accord, reaching into my pocket to grab my phone.  I dial without really thinking.

“ _Hey son, how’s your Sunday going?_ ”

“Hi Dad.”

“ _Are you still coming for dinner on Wednesday?_ ”

Shit, I had forgotten all about that.  My dad’s night off has finally come around and he blocked it all off for us to spend some long overdue father-son male bonding time together.  “That sounds great.  Let me know what you want me to bring.”

“ _Stiles, are you alright, son?_ ”  

He can hear that something’s off with my voice.  I take a deep breath.“Dad, do you remember Derek?”

“ _Yes...I tend to remember the people who come to Stilinski steak night, Stiles.  You’d been a little down after that night.  Did something happen?_ ”

Shit he reads me so well.  “Derek’s back in town.  He’s going through a hard time.  I’ve been helping him but now I don’t know what to do.  I mean, it feels so good that he’s here, but what happens when he can’t be here anymore?”

“ _Stiles_.”  I can hear that soft, calming voice coming out, the one that he always used when I was having a rough time after mom died.  Just the timbre of it makes me feel like I should be tearing up.  “ _You can’t live your life for other people.  Derek’s going to have to give as much as you are if you want something to work between you_.”  I nod with the phone and my fingers fidget together on my free hand.

I feel like I’m good for him, being here is good for him, and I like how I am with him which should be all that matters.  The circumstances are so specific and alien to my experiences, I have no idea how the real world logistics and factors are going to get in the way.  I want to hold onto this, but don’t know how.  I don’t like this feeling of uncertainty; I finally found someone I can see myself falling for who likes me in return.  Resigned to wait for the next step, I heave a sigh:  “I guess I’m just going to have to see how it plays out, right?”

“ _You’ll work it out, son.  I know you will.  You’re a good man.  You deserve to be happy_.”

“Thanks, Dad.  I’m looking forward to Wednesday.”  A small smile peeks out from the corners of my mouth.  I’m really lucky to have a Dad this awesome.

“ _Me too, Stiles.  Let me know if you need anything else, yeah?_ ”

“I will.  Love you, Dad.”

“ _Love you too_.”  With that, I end the call and turn my attention back to my iPad, processing through a couple of online orders and making a note on the reminder feature to package and mail out the copies tomorrow.

I hear the door open and see Derek walk into the shop with Laura in toe.  She strides up to me confidently.  “Thanks for keeping an eye on my brother, Stiles.  It’s nice that he’s had somewhere to go that isn’t in L.A.”

“He’s always welcome here.  And that goes for you as well.”

She grins at me.  “Aren’t you just the sweetest.”  She turns to look at Derek who is apparently trying to become part of the shelving unit.  He looks completely uncertain which isn’t very inspiring.  My stomach is starting to drop when she directs her attention back to me.  “I can see why he likes you.”

I can feel my cheeks getting hot and sneak a glance at Wall-Derek who looks equally embarrassed.  I get my brave on in response.  “I like him too.”

Laura’s eyes switch between us with a smug look all over her features.  “I think I’m going to give you two some time alone.  Stiles, do you want to give me your key?  I can wait in your apartment.”  I dig in my pocket and find my apartment key ring, passing it to her.

She closes her fingers around my outstretched hands; her skin is warm next to mine.  Laura gives me a reassuring nod and with that, turns to leave my shop.

When the door shuts, I stand fixed in the center of the shop, waiting for Derek to make the first move.  He unsticks himself from the display shelf and walks over to me.  The way he walks makes me think of what it must have looked like when a wolf approached a man for the first time, signaling the beginning of domestication.  He looks so shy.  I want that openness back.

“Thanks.”  His voice is soft and hesitant, but I still love hearing it.  “It was good that Laura and I got to talk.”

“I’m glad.”  I try to sound reassuring, but really don’t have any idea of where this is going.

“We talked about a lot of stuff that we should have brought up years ago.”  It pains me to see him looking so small; I can’t help myself and reach out my hand for his, rubbing over his thumb with mine soothingly.  “She said that she knew I’d been unhappy with Jennifer for ages and that she wasn’t good for me.  She actually feels bad that she wasn’t there for me more; thinks that she might have saved me from going down that road.”

I squeeze his hand lightly.  “That’s good, Derek.”

“She has a contact in L.A. who got word about how the data hack worked, that Jennifer’s was different.  The guy thinks that she intentionally released the photos.”

My jaw drops.  “Are you serious?!”  I swallow, realizing how awful this all is.  “She dragged you both down together.  What did she think, that this would make you want to stay with her because you were in the same boat or something?”  I take a deep breath, trying to calm myself down.  He doesn’t need me adding on to the crazy in his life.  “I’m so sorry, Derek.”

He look at me, really looks at me and I can tell what’s next.  It’s the thing I’ve been fearing since he showed up at my door.  “I need to go back and get this all figured out.”  I nod slowly with him, trying to process it all and realizing that I’m looking where I can fit into this, but I’m not finding one.  “Laura’s already started doing damage control and it doesn’t seem like I’m losing anything, no one’s pulling out of my contracts, but I have to keep working.  I have people counting on me and it’s my livelihood.”

“I know.  You should do that.”  My mind unearths a piece of our conversation in the park when he explained his love of acting and how it tied to his mom.  This is what he loves to do and no one should have to be forced to give up what they love.

He tries to draw me back in, but I can feel my emotions starting to get the best of me.  “Being here with you, it’s reminded me of all the reasons why I keep going.”  He takes my face in his hands.  “Laura agreed that I look happier than I’ve been in a long time.  I feel better than I’ve felt in a long time.  She said she was glad that I thought to come here, that she’s glad someone finally cares about me for me.”

My heart starts to pick up.  “I’m glad that you came here too.”  It’s almost too much, standing here in the spot that we met, and looking back over this small time that we’ve shared together.  I never would have dreamed when he entered the shop that he would have come back, that we would be together like this.

He looks into my eyes, a determination building behind them.  “I love to act.  It’s been the only thing, besides Laura, I could really count on, invest in, while everything else was falling apart around me.  It was the only thing that I had to focus on when I almost destroyed myself.  I can’t lose that part of me, but…”  He gathers himself and I can feel his confidence starting to radiate with myself as well.  “I don’t want to lose this either.”

My face still cupped in his hands, while he slides a sure palm behind my neck and draws me in for a kiss.  Relief floods through my body and I press back against him, just glad that we’re on the same page.  The kiss is sweet and he draws back, a happy look on his face that I want to keep there forever.  “I’d like that.  I’m really glad that you feel that way.”

“Laura and I are going to go back in the morning.  She has some interviews and meetings lined up that are going to put this back together.”  He’s really planned this out.  “I’m going to come back, we’re thinking three weekends from now which I think can work with everything Laura’s lined up.  I want you to come visit me as well.  I can fly you down to L.A. and you can stay with me.  I’m going to Australia to shoot a movie in three months, if you want, you can come visit there too.”

He’s actually thought about this, about how I fit in with everything.  I almost can’t believe that we’re on the same page about this.  “You’re making plans.”  I’m sure my smile is reaching broad proportions.  “I like your plans.”

He hugs me close, whispering in to my neck.  “I like you.”  

He pulls back after a long moment, keeping me in his arms.  “I don’t want to hide this.  It’s going to take a little time to deal with the Jennifer situation, especially because Laura wants to look into pressing charges.  It’s a lot to ask, but I want to take this slow as far as everything...public is concerned.  I’ve never been really good about discussing personal stuff with the world and I’m going to need to work up to it.  But I want us to be together, and I don’t want to hide.”

Here’s the facet that I’ve never been able to really comprehend.  I don’t know what it’s like to be scrutinized, to have everything I do judged and analyzed.  What it’s like to have more than a couple retweets on anything I put out into the universe.  “It’s uncharted territory for me as well.  Let’s see how this goes between us before we bring the rest of the world into it, yeah?”

I can see the last of his tension release from his shoulders, with our understanding.  I don’t know what this means for how the future will go, but I’m going to have the best time ever figuring it out with this brooding prince.

“I think Laura has probably waited long enough, don’t you think?”  I grasp his hands and feel like I’m almost buzzing from all this energy between us.

“I don’t know.  Scott’s pretty good company for her.  I think I might like him better than I like you.”

I scoff, shoving him lightly toward the door as I close up the register.  “That’s a very popular opinion around these parts.  I do have particularly good taste in bromances.  And men in general.  And curly fries.  I’m kind of awesome.”

He presses a kiss into my hair and gathers me into his side as we walk toward the door.  I give into my impulse to turn around and gaze at the sun-filled shop behind me.  “I’m really glad I came to Beacon Hills, Stiles.  To this shop.  To you.”

I grin next to him.  “Me too, Astounding Wolf-man.  Me too.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have not abandoned you all! Sorry - my real life got crazy there for a minute.
> 
> Just the epilogue left which I hope to have for you very, very soon!
> 
> I hope that you all have enjoyed reading :-) Comments and feedback continue to be appreciate!


	16. Epilogue: Three Years Later (Derek)

Flashbulbs pop from every corner of my vision while I exit the town car.  I smooth down the front of my tux quickly and then reach back behind me, eyes locking with those lash-lined, honey-brown reassuring eyes I've come to call home.  I'm so used to him being the sure one, but today I need to remind myself to be strong and thoughtful.  This is way out of Stiles's element.

His eyes grown even larger and rounded when he steps out and the roar of the fans partitioned off behind the awnings of the Dolby theatre swells to new heights.  He grasps my hand and I squeeze back reassuringly.  As I pan around, I see other actors and industry giants making their way down the red carpet in front of us and the bustle of their press teams.  I keep Stiles by my side but come back to the car to make sure that Laura has exited without incident.  

"Holy shit, Der; this is..."  I turn back to see Stiles taking it all in, turning his eyes back to mine again.  I lean toward him, brushing my lips by his ear and take his hand to begin walking down the carpet.  I'm reveling in this moment that has brought the man I love to speechlessness.

I wouldn't be here without him.  It's so crazy to cycle through visions of the last three years and realize how we ended up here, in this place at the Oscars.  Holy shit indeed.  I'm at the Oscars.  Alright, now I'm nearing the edge.

It hasn't been the easiest of roads, but I've never looked back after we left Stiles's shop that day ready to move forward together.  I know the distance was hard for him in the beginning, but we've always been good about keeping in touch, talking daily by phone, texting, and of course multiple Skype sessions, some that have left little to the imagination.

The one constant through the insanity of this ride from that point forward has been Stiles's unwavering loyalty and enthusiasm.  Now, he's beginning to learn patience.  We're still working on that one.

Since that day, Laura helped to maneuver everything professional around the Hale-storm (Stiles's formal name for it, not mine), that encircled my life shortly after the Jennifer split.  I just kept working while Stiles kept me laughing.

He moved to L.A. a year ago and got a job as a reader and script consultant for Marvel's L.A. branch in film development.  Two of the scripts that he has helped to shuttle through pre-production have already been picked up.  He's living comic books 24/7 and he's never been happier.  

Isaac is still running the shop back home, which they've been able to maintain.  He's gotten some really good displays at Comic-Con over the last couple of years and his online trading has shot through the roof.  Isaac's been able to take his own store assistant, Jane.  They're dating now.  Stiles thinks there's a love spell on the shop.  I muss his hair and tell him that he's being ridiculous.

I turn my attention back to the man beside me while we're walking down to the first interview station.  He looks like he's finding his footing like a new baby fawn.  This is the first season that we've been making appearances together and it couldn't come at a better time.

Shifters is running its fourth season with the fifth and final to be taped this summer.  In the break between seasons two and three, I landed a part in Bennett Miller's latest and it's been taking off at all of the festivals.  It released in late December, just in time for awards season and I've found myself in a surreal world with a Best Supporting Actor nomination.  

The ride has been absolute madness with everything you have to do when you're nominated.  I lost at the Golden Globes, but the night was better than I could have ever imagined with Stiles and Laura by my side.  Vegas odds have me at third with Idris Elba expected to take it; he won at the Globes, and I've made my peace.  It's just so surreal being here.

Stiles has made it clear that he's about "98,000% more nervous than I am" for me, and his excitement is radiating through his body.  It wasn't the easiest thing to do when we first allowed ourselves to be seen walking hand in hand around L.A.  I've never even made a formal announcement and the funny thing is that it hasn't seemed to have much an effect, either positive or negative at all.  

I try to focus during the interviews, giving all due respect to the cast, crew, and Bennett Miller, of course.  I introduce Stiles and say how lucky I am to have him supporting me.  The interviewers try to ask me about the future, but he always cuts in deflecting the questions back on the interviewers.  Even the most seasoned pros don't know exactly what to do with his level of exuberant charm.

He grabs my hand a couple times in absolute shock of the celebrities that he's standing ten feet from.  I have to stop him from almost pouncing on Robert Downey Jr. at one point while he hits my shoulder, just repeating "Iron Man.  Fucking Iron Man" over and over in awe.

It's fun to go through this night with him, watching everything old become new again.  His appreciation for the industry reminds me of what good it can do for people and why it's my way of subtly connecting with the world.

The rest of the red carpet remains a bit of a blur while we try to take it all in.  Laura, looking stunning in her emerald Marc Jacobs, eventually herds us through the doors of the Dolby Theatre.  We get inside and it hits me that this is really happening.

As we make nice with the other nominees sitting around us and take our seats, the light in Stiles's eyes never dims.  He looks radiant, every bit the wide-eyed, beautiful boy I needed to kiss that first day.

We're planning on taking a vacation to Vancouver to go snowboarding after we spend a couple of days in Beacon Hills, visiting with Sheriff Stilinski and Erica and Boyd's new baby, Amelia who just turned a month old.  We haven't been able to get back with all of this madness, so Stiles has made sure to stock up on a ton of presents for her.  Stiles fawns over all of the pictures they send and loves to see her on Facetime.  It's been almost comical to watch him try to back off from having an in-depth conversation about our future now that one of our friends has a baby in the mix.

It's gotten twice as prevalent lately with Scott and Allison's upcoming wedding this summer.  I can't deny that it's been getting me thinking too, just in time for the vacation.  Stiles has never been snowboarding before and just bought a parka that I think could allow him to survive the Antarctic winter with no problem.  He's always cold.  Like right now when he's rubbing his hands between mine while people-watching all around us.

I've always been the quiet one, the observer who is able to take that and put it on film.  Being around Stiles has been the most perspective altering, wonderful, crazy, annoying, and necessary time in my life.  I've grown as a person, a communicator, a lover, a friend, and a brother through allowing myself to open up to this beautiful man.  I can't imagine spending the rest of my life without him.

Hopefully if this next couple of days goes the way I plan, I won't have to consider that.

The lights dim and the music swells with the opening of the ceremony.  This is one of the biggest nights of my life and I feel so blessed to have him sitting beside me.  A feathery kiss is pressed to my neck as the host takes the stage.

This is right.  This is home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading! My life got a little crazy, but I'm glad that I got this finished.
> 
> You all have been so kind to this first time writer.
> 
> Maybe I'll be struck by something new in the future.
> 
> Till next time - :-D
> 
> **12/24/2016 - Edited for some grammatical and spelling errors. Happy Holidays!!**


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